


Redemption Wears Gucci

by Multiple_Universes



Series: The Devil Wears Prada AU [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fashion & Couture, Fashion Designer Victor Nikiforov, Fluff, Getting Back Together, M/M, Movie AU, Mutual Pining, book AU, devil wears prada au, fashionista everyone else, journalist Yuuri Katsuki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-01-07 19:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 63,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12239406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multiple_Universes/pseuds/Multiple_Universes
Summary: Four months after the newspapers explode with the scandalous details of Victor Nikiforov’s affair and break-up with his second assistant, Yuuri Katsuki, an article appears in Fantastic Man, the rival magazine to Victor Nikiforov’s Runway. The article is written by Yuuri Katsuki himself. Is everything really over between them?





	1. Yuuri Katsuki

**Author's Note:**

> This is part two of the Devil Wears Prada AU. Part one is The Devil Wears Gucci. I will do my best to make this a stand-alone fic so that, in theory, you should be able to understand what is going on without reading the first one, but I recommend starting with it anyway. A word of warning: if you’re planning to read this one first and then the other one, you will be spoiling not just the ending for yourself, but a good chunk of the story.

Making people wait for him was the mayor’s favourite pastime. Even if, as was the case now, he was doing absolutely nothing, he’d still make the person who came to see him wait. It was his way of reminding people that he was an Important Man with an Important Job. “You came here to see me,” his manner said, “you can wait until I’m free.” The visitor could’ve called ahead of time, booked an appointment three months in advance, triple-confirmed and he’d _still_ make them wait for a good hour.

Not that the young man sitting patiently in the corner had done that. No, he’d only called once and hadn’t even bothered to leave his name, only the time and the purpose of his visit.

The secretary stole glances at him every ten minutes, making little bets with herself as to when his patience would run out. But he merely sat there with the air of someone content to wait forever.

Her phone rang. “Yes?”

“Is he still there?” that was the mayor.

“Yes,” she said, suppressing the urge to look at the man in question.

“Tell him to come back tomorrow.”

As if sensing that they were talking about him, the young man chose that moment to rise to his feet.

The secretary hung up. Her mind raced as she tried to come up with a suitable excuse for the long wait. Maybe she could persuade him that there was something very urgent that her boss had to deal with.

“Excuse me,” the young man began as she opened her mouth, “I’m really sorry. I understand that the mayor is a very busy man and I wouldn’t dream of distracting him from his work.” There wasn’t a trace of sarcasm in his words and the secretary found herself believing him. “If you could just give him my card and be so kind as to ask him to call me back so we can agree on a more suitable time. Thank you.”

He placed his card on the desk in front of her, turned around and left with polite, “Have a good day.”

She watched the door close behind him and then her eyes dropped to the card.

_Yuuri Katsuki_

_The New Yorker_

 

There were people whose names could open many doors, if not all of them. Usually these were people in positions of power and authority. Very few of them were members of the middle class.

One such exception was walking towards a taxi.

“Mr. Katsuki!” a young woman ran out after him.

Yuuri Katsuki turned around and smiled at the mayor’s secretary. “Hello again! Is something wrong?”

“Th-the mayor will see you now. He apologizes for the wait.”

“Thank you.” He followed her back, the expression on his face not changing. It didn’t even change when he noticed the curious glances the secretary kept throwing at him.

Once, a whole lifetime ago, he’d worked for a man whose name opened doors and now it seemed that his own name had taken on that quality. He tried not to think about that, but to focus instead on the questions he had for the mayor of New York.

The secretary escorted him all the way into the mayor’s office without another word.

“So,” the mayor said, turning around in his chair and Yuuri couldn’t help but think he was copying a movie as he did so, “how is Victor Nikiforov doing these days?”

A question with a trap.

Yuuri smiled. “Please forgive me, sir, but I understand that you are a very busy man and I wouldn’t dream of wasting your time with idle chit-chat.”

It was the sort of question he’d learned to deflect. He had to. After all, no one seemed to be interested in anything other than what had gone on between him and the editor of _Runway_. And no one seemed to be interested in the honest answer anyway.

The honest answer being that Yuuri had no clue. How could anyone know anything about someone they hadn’t seen or talked to for a good three months? Especially since their affair with that person was well and truly over.

 

The May issue of _Fantastic Man_ lay on the table with Yuuri Katsuki’s photo on the cover. The April issue peeked out from under it, also with Yuuri Katsuki’s photo on the cover. Neither of these issues had any other photos of Yuuri. Neither of them mentioned a single thing about what the press called the “scandalous Nikiforov-Katsuki affair”. Both covers boasted photos of Yuuri with a smile on his face that some genius in the press had compared to Mona Lisa’s smile.

The newspapers were full of gossip and theories that tried to explain these two covers.

Was it all a part of the rivalry between the two editors? Both of them refused to comment and that action sparked even wilder rumours.

Had Mr. Chulanont stolen Mr. Katsuki from Mr. Nikiforov? As soon as someone made that suggestion everyone wrote about the supposed love affair between Mr. Chulanont and Mr. Katsuki, implying as heavily as they could that it was probably all Mr. Nikiforov’s fault. Mr. Katsuki, many wrote, was so heartbroken by the way Mr. Nikiforov had treated him, that he ran straight into Mr. Chulanont’s arms.

_Why was he heartbroken?_

_Haven’t you heard about Mr. Nikiforov?_

And out came articles full of details about all of Mr. Nikiforov’s past affairs. The common denominator was obvious to everyone.

Phichit Chulanont, Yuuri Katsuki’s best friend and editor-in-chief of _Fantastic Man_ , went through the mock-up of the next issue. He flipped back to the cover and took a long look at Yuuri’s photo. Three he’d agreed to and so this would be the last issue with him on the cover.

There were going to be the usual headlines all over the cover with promises of secrets revealed and life tips and an interview with someone else. And not a word about Yuuri Katsuki or Victor Nikiforov.

 _Your move, Mr. Nikiforov,_ Phichit thought each time an issue with Yuuri went out.

But Victor did nothing in response.

Phichit still remembered how broken his friend had sounded over the phone after the breakup.

 

_“I’m going home,” Yuuri said as soon as Phichit picked up. The simple statement had caught him off guard. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he saw it was Yuuri calling._

_“Listen, I will join –”_

_“No, Phichit, I mean_ home _. I’m going to see my family. My flight is in 30 minutes. I don’t want to see anyone, so please don’t call me or come here. I’ll call you when I’m ready.” And he hung up._

_Phichit learned about the breakup from the newspapers._

_Two weeks of silence followed and then Phichit got to see how broken his friend was. And for the first time in his life he wanted something truly terrible._

_He wanted revenge._

_It couldn’t be a little silly rumour. It had to be something far worse than that. Phichit was prepared to gamble away his own job and his own reputation to do it._

_The idea came to him in the middle of the night as he tried to sleep in the room next to Yuuri’s. Now he just had to convince Yuuri._

_But Yuuri was in no mental state to appreciate the magnitude of what Phichit was suggesting. His poor mind caught only one word in the stream of Phichit’s arguments._

_Payment._

_“That’s a great idea, Phichit!” Yuuri said with just a hint of his old enthusiasm. “I need to leave. I thought it would be easier here, but I see now that I need to go somewhere new. I need a fresh start. With money I can find a new apartment and move on.”_

_“Yuuri, if you need to borrow money…” Phichit began._

_“No. If I can work and earn it, that’s what I will do.” He got up from the bed. “I’m tired of being depressed. Don’t think I’ve given up on my dream already.”_

_Phichit smiled and organized the photoshoot._

_They held it in a small studio and Phichit paid Yuuri far more than he’d paid any of the models working for_ Fantastic Man _, feeling guilty about what he was doing._

_His feeling of guilt increased when the sales figures came through and he found out that the issue had triple the number of sales the previous one had._

_And then the letters came in. He had to hire a secretary to answer it, because Yuuri took one look at the pile that took up half a room, shook his head and said he never wanted to see it again._

_Phichit went through it thoroughly (or, at least, had the secretary do that) and one sender was very conspicuous by his absence: Victor never wrote a single letter. After Yuuri walked out on him they hadn’t exchanged a single word (or so Yuuri had told Phichit, anyway). Phichit expected Victor to write something, even if it was only an angry note, but nothing came to the magazine._

_He found a person at_ Runway _willing to pass information to him and asked them the same question and got the same answer: nothing. The whole magazine carried on as if nothing had happened._

Did Victor merely brush it aside like he’d done with all of his other affairs and forget about it? Or was he just very good at hiding his feelings? There was just no way of finding out what the editor of _Runway_ was thinking.

Maybe it was time for him to move on as well.

He sighed and put the mock up down to go through the pile of letters in his tray.

To Phichit’s surprise, a good chunk of the mail sent to _Fantastic Man_ was addressed to him. To be fair, he got a lot of letters, probably at least as many as Victor did, or so he thought. No, what had surprised him about these letters and what filed them away with his friend’s letters was that they all had the same request.

_“Please tell us more about the man on the cover.”_

People wrote long heart-breaking letters about love at first sight, about perfection, about curiosity, and a couple came in with a lot of detail about a sexual awakening. But the main message was clear: they all wanted to know more about Yuuri Katsuki. Oh, they’d worked out who he was relatively quickly, and now they begged and demanded to have more.

 _Maybe it won’t hurt,_ Phichit thought, _I’ll get him to write something about himself and that will be the end of it. Maybe I can even call him a style icon._ He had to resist a shudder at that thought.

Yuuri was his best friend, yes, but it still baffled Phichit that after all his time at _Runway_ Yuuri’s sense of fashion hadn’t improved in the slightest and he needed a style guide to help him dress. But only a handful of people knew that, so Phichit could probably get away with calling him a fashion icon. Probably.

Phichit called Yuuri once he finished going through the mock-up. “Yuuri? Do you think you could do me a favour? You’re really popular with my readers so why don’t you write a short article about yourself?”

Much later he would tell himself that it was a terrible idea, but that was later.

 

Yuuri finished his article on recent events, complete with the mayor’s comments about them and got up. He stood by the window, looking out. He didn’t have a spectacular view. He couldn’t afford one, even if he’d wanted it. But he didn’t.

His apartment looked out over the poorer areas of the city. The landlord had made all kinds of comments about the apartment facing the wrong way when Yuuri had come to see it, not knowing that Yuuri was thinking the opposite.

His closet was full of clothes he had from his previous job, some of which were in the three figures. Every morning he took a cab to one of the most fashionable parts of the city. When he went for lunch he was in the most expensive part of town with a man who earned at least three times as much as the average person in the city, and who knew how many times more than the average person in the country? His job often sent him into the offices of the most important people in the area.

This view was his reminder of what it was all for.

It was very different from the view he used to have.

His heart squeezed painfully in his chest. Without thinking about it, he pulled a handkerchief out of his inside pocket and pressed it to his face. It was the one Victor had given him. He wasn’t sure why he’d kept it, but it had been in his breast pocket that morning when he walked away and now he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it.

He’d learned how to be strong. He’d learned not to tremble when entering the offices of important people (it wasn’t that hard, after all: he’d done it for Victor countless times). But his heart still betrayed him from time to time.

 _I will get over it eventually,_ he told himself, but his memory played cruel tricks on him. He’d spend evenings going over every single terrible thing the editor had done and still he’d imagine Victor at the Christmas party, framed in the doorway, looking perfect.

Who said that love faded with time? His only seemed to grow stronger.

He sat down with a sigh and attacked the article Phichit had asked for. He spent all eternity trying to decide on a beginning before settling for something simple.

 _I’m Yuuri Katsuki. I am 24 years old and I work as a journalist for the New Yorker._ Some more details of his biography followed and he wondered how much he should include.

 _Before my current job I was second assistant to Victor Nikiforov at the Runway magazine._ He mulled over this for the next 10 minutes, wondering what to write after a sentence like that. _I made several friends there,_ he wrote, thinking of Yuri Plisetsky and Chris. _I also learned a lot about fashion._ He thought about this sentence and amended it to say: _I also learned a lot about the fashion industry._

He didn’t write anything else about Victor, because he didn’t know what to write. The readers had probably heard or read what the gossip columns thought they knew about their love affair. What could he write to explain what had happened? Nothing. He didn’t owe them an explanation in any case, whether they expected it or not.

He added a few more sentences and sent it to Phichit.

He was going to stop thinking about Victor, he promised himself, even if he was meeting up with his first assistant for lunch the next day.

 

Yuri Plisetsky still remembered that morning in Paris when he’d woken up, feeling warm and happy until he realized that it was the phone ringing that had woken him up.

_He turned over and looked at Beka’s sleeping face._

_Still the phone rang._

_He knew who it was and for the first time in his life he really didn’t care. Instead, he brushed a lock of hair out of Beka’s face and gently kissed his forehead._

_Then, with a quiet sigh, he slipped out of Beka’s embrace to go looking for his phone._

_He found it under the pile of clothes and locked himself in the bathroom before answering the call._

_“Yuri, you need to be here_ now _,” Victor ordered._

_He allowed himself a stab in revenge. “Should I call Yuuri?”_

_A pause. “I fired him.”_

_(Of course, much later, he learned that this wasn’t exactly true.)_

_“So I am here with_ no assistant _right now.” Victor said in a voice that could keep meat fresh for at least a week. “And it’s your job to make sure that a thing like this never happens.”_

_“On my way,” he promised, but Victor had already hung up._

 

A month went by before he heard from Yuuri again. He called one morning as Yuri dealt with the usual workload in the office and had caught him completely off guard.

 

_“Hello, Yuri! It’s me. I still owe you lunch for helping me out. Do you think you can meet up with me sometime?” He hesitated. “I-if you think that’s appropriate.”_

_Yuri chuckled, watching the new second assistant run in with Victor’s coffee. “Thursday?”_

_“Ok.”_

_“You better take me somewhere nice.”_

_This statement actually made Yuuri chuckle. “I think I know a place you’ll like.”_

And he’d been right. But Yuri’s liking for it was nothing in comparison to how shocked he was that Yuuri could book it in the first place.

 _He’s best friends with the editor of_ Fantastic Man, he reminded himself. But, if before it held the same ring as “he’s best friends with the devil”, now he found he didn’t really care.

Now he was waiting for Yuuri to join him for another lunch at the same spot (that had become their usual spot). He wondered if this time Yuuri would finally ask about Victor. So far he’d avoided the subject altogether, leaving Yuri to talk about things at _Runway_ instead.

It wasn’t the same. It really wasn’t. Yuuri had shaken up the place without really intending to. No one talked about him within the walls of the Elias-Clarke building of course, but he was uppermost in their thoughts. When the issue of _Fantastic Man_ came out with Yuuri on the cover the picture was cut out and framed in the bathrooms because it was the only place where Victor never went, having a private bathroom all to himself. The covers that followed ended up on those walls as well.

Yuri heard from Mila that in the women’s bathroom the models left lipstick imprints all over the covers and graffitied the walls with phrases like “slay them all”. He himself smiled at the photos each time he walked into the men’s bathroom. Sometimes he nodded as well, as if in greeting.

He didn’t tell Yuuri about any of this. Somehow the editor of _Fantastic Man_ had managed to talk him into appearing on the cover of his magazine without Yuuri realizing how the world would see it.

Because he was heartbroken. Still heartbroken.

Each time they met Yuri could see that the affair was tearing Yuuri apart from the inside. Even though Yuuri had walked away, it still wasn’t over for him.

There he was again: doing his best to look like a typical journalist working for _The New Yorker_ without realizing how much he stood out in a crowd.

He wished Yuuri would ask him about Victor. He wished he had an excuse to bring up Victor’s name in a conversation and tell Yuuri how much of a façade everything was. _You’ve won. You’ve really won._

 _Runway_ wasn’t the same. Victor wasn’t the same. Yuri could feel it. He couldn’t really explain why he felt this way, but he did.

He even read what the critics wrote about the recent issues of _Runway_ in the hopes that they could explain this somehow.

Nothing.

“Sorry I’m late,” Yuuri said, rushing in.

“You always make me wait. I’m already used to it.”

Yuuri blushed, apologized again and called the waiter over to place his order.

The first assistant watched him, wondering how many covers he had to appear on before Victor gave away how much each one affected him.

The two Yuris went on with their lunch, falling into an easy conversation, blissfully unaware of what the two editors uppermost in their mind were currently up to.

 

“I have a letter here, sir,” the secretary that went through Yuuri’s fanmail announced and placed it on Phichit’s desk before walking out again.

The paper was expensive and of good quality. It had two names on it.

_For: Yuuri Katsuki_

_From: Victor Nikiforov_

The weeks of silence were broken at last.

Phichit stared down at the envelope with a mix of emotions. He felt curiosity burn inside him as he put it away. His secretary, as per his prior instructions, had left the envelope untouched. This was one letter that had to be delivered unopened to Phichit’s desk.

And so he left it until the next day when he’d have lunch with Yuuri.

Seeing the bad eating habits Yuuri had fallen into as a result of working for _Runway_ , Phichit made an agreement with him to have all of their weekday lunches together.

“Oh yes, this came in the mail for you, Yuuri.” He said once they’d finished eating. He hesitated, taking in the blank look on Yuuri’s face, and picked up the envelope from the table to hand it over.

Yuuri reached out for the envelope, saw the names on it and snatched his hand away, as if afraid that it would get burned. “Keep it.”

“But, Yuuri, don’t you want to know what he wrote?”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”

 _But you_ do _care, Yuuri. It’s written all over your face._ “What should I do with it, then?”

“Whatever you want.” Yuuri waved it off. He glanced down at his watch, mumbled something about an appointment he was late for and ran out of the restaurant.

Phichit put the envelope back on the table and stared at it thoughtfully. Could he do it? Could he open and read what was inside? But Yuuri had just given him his permission! But what if it was a very personal letter?

But he really, really wanted to know what was inside it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random fact I discovered when I was trying to track down a copy of The Devil Wears Prada book: there is a sequel called Revenge Wears Prada. I haven’t actually read it, so the only similarity I’m aware of between it and this fic is the title (I couldn’t resist the parallel).  
> Believe it or not, I wrote the first 1.5 chapters of the previous fic, wrote down a few details of the overall plot, wrote the scene with the plot twist (you know the one) and then wrote the last scene with Yuuri’s outburst. Then I flipped to a new page (because I write in notebooks) and started to write this fic.  
> I confess that at some point I considered just continuing the other fic and not making a separate one as a sequel, but the tone felt different to me, so I thought it should be a separate story.


	2. A Letter from an Editor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I challenge you to read this chapter while listening to [Mad About You by Hooverphonic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6EA-MIYY1bg) and not cry.

Phichit raised his eyes from the envelope, looking for Yuuri in the off-chance that he hadn’t gone far. Maybe he could convince him to open it after all. He had to explain that this was the first time Victor had broken his silence. He had to convince Yuuri that it was important. Wasn’t he in the least bit curious? It couldn’t be a coincidence that this letter came the day after the issue with Yuuri’s article came out. This was his response to it. It had to be.

Yuuri stood outside the restaurant with someone Phichit had met before, but in that moment he couldn’t remember where. He was good at putting names to faces, but, for some reason, he had trouble doing that this time.

The man put his arms around Yuuri and Yuuri returned the embrace. Not content with this, obviously, the man then kissed Yuuri’s cheeks, going left, right and then left again, and making the boy blush.

Phichit really wished he could remember where he’d seen that man before.

 

The letter had come out of nowhere.  After so many months of silence he’d assumed Victor had moved on. He didn’t think that his article would make Victor write to him. He didn’t think Victor would even read it.

But why else would he write now, of all times?

“Yuuri!” a familiar voice called out.

He felt his heart leap. Before he even realized who it was, his heart was already telling him it was a friend. He spotted the young man rushing to him in a way that showed that, no, he wasn’t running, just moving very quickly. “Chris!” he exclaimed as soon as the art director caught up with him.

“What brings you here?” Chris asked, the sunlight reflecting off his glasses.

“Lunch with a friend,” Yuuri answered. “And you?” _I’m so glad to see you!_

“Lunch with my fiancé!” Chris raised his right hand to show off the ring he was wearing.

“Congratulations!” Yuuri exclaimed, breaking out into a big smile.

“I was just talking to him about you,” Chris told him, the expression on his face softening. “What a coincidence!”

“Oh?”

Chris handed Yuuri an envelope. “You’re really lucky I had this with me.”

Yuuri took the envelope with some hesitation. He couldn’t help thinking of a different envelope he’d just refused to take. “Um… what is it?”

“An invitation to my wedding, of course!” Chris exclaimed with a happy smile.

“Oh! Thank you!” And then another thought occurred to him. “Did you invite…?” He left the question hanging and lowered his eyes, too embarrassed to go on.

“I think people will be more relaxed if there are no bosses invited.”

“S-Sorry, I…” Yuuri stuttered. How could he be so stupid? And so tactless?

“Come here.” Chris pulled him into a hug and then, to Yuuri’s surprise, kissed him on the cheeks, going back and forth for a grand total of three kisses. “I expect an article in _The New Yorker_ about my wedding,” he whispered into Yuuri’s ear.

Chris pulled away, took in the look on Yuuri’s face and laughed. “Just kidding! I missed you, Yuuri. Honestly, I missed you. Promise me you won’t disappear. You have my number, so if you need anything, call me, alright?”

Yuuri nodded.

“Or if you just want someone to talk to,” Chris offered.

A car honked and Chris turned away. “Ah! There he is: the love of my life!” He rushed to car, turning at the last moment to wave at Yuuri.

Yuuri waved back and then his eyes dropped to the envelope. Again his mind returned to the one he’d left with Phichit.

_No, I’m not ready to confront you just yet…_

 

_Yuuri walked past a line of bars, staring into each one, as if looking for something. The street was familiar, but he couldn’t remember when he’d visited it last. And then he saw it._

_It was the bar where he’d made his first move, where he’d first become conscious of how attracted he was to Victor and leaned in for that kiss that had started it all.  
_

_The door swung open at his touch and he stepped inside before he was even aware that he’d made the decision to enter. The bar was full of people and he had to push his way to the front, which was completely empty for some reason._

_As he sat down he asked for something strong. Maybe he could numb himself to the pain. There had to be a way of getting rid of it temporarily at least._

_The barman obliged and Yuuri downed it all in one go. He let his eye wander across the room and froze._

_Victor sat in the corner, staring at him with the same shock that must’ve been on his own face. He called the barman over and handed him an envelope._

_The barman bowed and carried it to Yuuri on a silver tray._

_Yuuri reached out for it and…_

…and woke up.

He turned over and buried his face in his hands. It was just a dream, just a stupid, stupid dream.

He tried to fall back asleep, but his brain churned away like mad, going over every detail of the dream, going over every detail of that morning.

Yuuri thought of the envelope again. He should’ve taken it, even if he wasn’t going to read Victor’s letter. He should’ve taken it anyway.

His last thought before he drifted off was _I wonder if Phichit threw it out._

When the morning came it brought with it the thought that he did the right thing. Taking the letter would’ve been a mistake. Whatever Victor wrote, it would’ve only upset Yuuri if he read it and he had no doubt that if he had taken it, he would’ve read it.

 

Two days later found Phichit sitting in his kitchen, late in the evening, cradling a glass of wine in his hand and with the envelope on the table in front of him. He couldn’t stand not knowing anymore. He’d gone over the different things that Victor could’ve written. Yuuri hadn’t brought up the letter since Phichit had told him about it, leading Phichit to conclude that he’d either forgotten about it or decided to act like it never came.

Phichit opened it carefully and pulled out its contents. It was a page from his magazine with Yuuri’s article about himself. There was nothing else in the envelope. So shocked was he by this discovery, that he checked several times in the mad hope that something else would appear. Then he looked at the article, expecting words in the margins, or at least circles around certain sentences. There was nothing there and nothing on the back.

Puzzled, Phichit wondered what it could possibly mean. Was this Victor’s way of making a sarcastic comment? He stared at the paper again. _I’ve read your article and I have no response_. Was that it?

Then he noticed that it was slightly deformed, as if it was wet and then dried. He studied the envelope. It was dry and in perfect condition.

Phichit sighed and put it away.

Should he tell Yuuri about this? No, he was finally getting over the heartbreak, Phichit was sure of it. Best to bury everything, forget about it and finally move on.

 

_He was back on the same street, in the same bar. Victor was there again and Yuuri was conscious of the man’s eyes on his face as he downed glass after glass. He kept his own attention fixed on his drink._

_The barman placed the envelope in front of Yuuri and left._

_Yuuri snatched at it hurriedly, afraid it would disappear. It fell apart at his touch, turning into Victor’s handkerchief…_

Yuuri awoke from the dream and sat up. There were tears pouring down his face. He climbed out of bed and looked for the handkerchief. In the darkness he walked into a chair before finding what he needed. It was easier to breathe once he buried his face in it.

_I need to know what he wrote. Even if it’s something awful, I need to know._

 

Phichit sat in a café outside, making an effort to enjoy the sunshine. He waited for Yuuri to join him for lunch as usual, tapping his fingers on the table and trying to think of a conversation topic that had nothing to do with any magazine out there, or any magazine’s editor, except, perhaps, himself.

He saw Yuuri coming down the street. There was that expression on his face telling the world that he’d come to some sort of decision and it wasn’t pleasant.

Yuuri joined him with his usual warm greeting and then ordered something to eat, as if nothing was wrong.

The moment the waiter left Yuuri leaned forward in his seat. “I want to see that letter.”

And there it was. He didn’t even need to specify which letter he meant, because he knew Phichit would understand what he meant.

“I don’t have it,” Phichit lied. He’d brought it with him, because he’d carried it around day after day just in case Yuuri asked for it. But now that Yuuri was actually asking for it, he realized he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bear to see what effect it would have on his friend.

Yuuri turned away before Phichit could see his reaction.

“Listen, you need to find someone, anyone, who will be able to help you get over this,” Phichit insisted. “I wish I could be that person, but I can see now that I can’t do a thing to help you.”

Yuuri gave a long sigh and said nothing.

“You’re a young, handsome man. Surely people want to talk to you.” He thought of the piles of fanmail that came to his magazine every day. “I know the fans never stop writing.”

Yuuri sighed again and pulled a fist full of little papers from his pocket. He held them up for Phichit to see. “People keep trying to slip me their number. This is just from this morning.”

“Well!” Phichit exclaimed.

Yuuri stuck the papers back in his pocket and said nothing.

_No matter what happens, you can’t escape him._

The waiter arrived with Yuuri’s drink and they waited quietly for him to go away before returning to their conversation.

“Did you throw it out?” Yuuri insisted. “Can you bring it next time?”

Phichit opened his mouth to lie again and tell Yuuri that he’d burned the stupid thing, and instead found himself admitting the truth. “I have it with me.”

Yuuri gave him a shocked look.

“I opened it,” he admitted after a long pause. _I wish I hadn’t, then I could still hope that it would put you at ease, but this will only trouble you further_. “And I looked at what he sent.”

“And?” Yuuri asked fearfully.

_Even now you love him and even now you tremble at a single thought of him._

He pulled the envelope out and opened it. “This is all there was in it.” He handed the article to Yuuri.

“But… that’s my article!” Yuuri exclaimed, taking it out of Phichit’s hands.

“Yes and it looks like the paper was wet,” Phichit added, handing Yuuri the envelope.

Yuuri stared at it.

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” Phichit said, “but I don’t think this needs to mean anything. Look what he did to you! Even after breaking free you’re still suffering! Listen, Yuuri,” he leaned forward, “you need to find someone else, someone who’ll take your mind off it all and just move on. Pick a number from that pile and just try it. It doesn’t have to be love. It could just be another friend.” He sighed. “I really, really wish I knew how to help you get over him.”

“You’ve done a lot for me already,” Yuuri told him.

“Not enough, obviously.”

“But I can’t…” Yuuri sighed. “There is no one like him, even though he was… what he was. I want to hate him, I really do, but I can’t.”

Phichit squeezed Yuuri’s hand. “I’m sorry. And this letter just makes everything worse.”

 

Yuuri looked down at the page from the magazine. Someone, probably not Victor, had torn it out very carefully, or, quite possibly, cut it out with a pair of scissors. Victor wasn’t the type to send someone a piece of paper and wait for them to notice he’d cried over it. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see that. He probably hadn’t even realized that the paper had deformed. Why did he send it, then?

Yuuri held it up to the light and tilted it slightly.

Victor _had_ written something, or had started to, anyway. This page had been under a letter and Yuuri could make out the indentations of the only words Victor had written.

_Dear Yuuri_

He always had a witty response, regardless of the situation, or a sharp word. But he’d just sent the article. Why?

Because Yuuri hadn’t written about their relationship and Victor must have decided that writing nothing would be a fitting answer.

That sounded more like Victor.

Yuuri put it down on the table with a heavy sigh.

He remembered their first date. The first moment he’d become conscious of how attracted he was to Victor, when one glass of alcohol had tipped him over the edge and he fell head first. It had loosened something in his chest and he’d made his move. There had been something endearing about Victor not knowing how to react or the way he’d hotly insisted afterwards that he’d enjoyed the attention.

 _If I ever let you back into my life,_ Yuuri thought, running a finger over the envelope, _it will be on my own terms._

 

_He was at the bar again, drinking what the barman gave him without even stopping to ask what it was. Yuuri lowered what might have been his third glass, or even his fifth glass to see the barman smiling at him._

_“From the gentleman in the corner,” he said with a smile and a nod, and put an envelope down in front of Yuuri._

_He snatched it up and opened it._

_There was an article inside. It was by Victor Nikiforov and, as far as Yuuri could tell from a quick perusal, it was about silk handkerchiefs._

_“I have another one,” the barman said and handed him another envelope._

_The envelope turned into a torn-off cover of_ Runway _at Yuuri’s touch. Victor smiled from it, the details all around him fading out to grey._

_“And three more,” the barman added._

_Each one turned into the cover of a different fashion magazine, each with Victor’s photo on it._

_“Oh, I forgot about this one!” the barman said, dropping a giant envelope down in front of Yuuri._

_It landed with a loud thud and turned out to not be an envelope at all. It was a giant issue of_ The New Yorker _with a picture of Victor on the cover._

Yuuri woke up, feeling terrified. His heart raced. The thud still echoed in his ears, as if it had really happened.

He slipped out of bed and got up to open the window.

The warm night breeze tickled his face. He closed his eyes and leaned against the window’s frame.

Just another stupid dream…

 

The following morning he was in his boss’s office with his newest article on the table between them. Yuuri had emailed him a copy, but the editor was old-fashioned enough to prefer hard copies he could mark up with a pen.

“On time, as always,” the editor of _The New Yorker_ said with a big smile. “Time to give you your next assignment, I guess.”

Yuuri debated sitting down and settled for standing. “Yes?”

“You know I let my employees pick the stories they cover and this isn’t any different. Sit down, Yuuri.” He gestured at the empty chair in front of him and waited for Yuuri to sit before continuing. “We’re doing a piece on the 100 most influential people of the last twenty-five years. The name of your previous employer came up. Now, I can think of five people more suitable than him off the top of my head, but I had a little suspicion…” He paused, taking in the look on Yuuri’s face. “I know when someone hasn’t said everything they’d meant to say. You know I do. And you look like someone who has something to say.”

Yuuri opened his mouth.

His boss raised a hand to silence him. “I didn’t say it was to me. I thought this might give you a chance for some closure. If you want it. If not, like I said: I can easily find five other people to replace him.”

 _I wish I could,_ Yuuri suddenly thought and instantly regretted it. “Can I think about it?”

The editor of _The New Yorker_ looked at the clock as if it was a pressing issue. “You know my policy: if we’re doing 100 people, we’ll actually write about 110. You can take your time.”

Yuuri nodded and left the office. He headed straight for the washroom and locked himself in one of the stalls, away from prying eyes.

The thought of seeing Victor again, even if it was just as the next person he would interview for an article for work, filled him with a kind of hope. He tried to tell himself it was foolish, but there it was anyway.

He pulled the handkerchief out of his inner pocket and pressed it to his face.

_“I love you.”_

Even though he didn’t believe it, the memory of that confession still made his heart race.

He sighed.

Victor’s letter was in his inside pocket and it would stay there for the next few days at least. All he’d ever written to Yuuri after those months of silence consisted of just their names on the outside of the envelope.

Then Yuuri drew in a breath, checked himself in the mirror and walked out.

“I’ll do it,” he told the editor. “I can probably get a better interview out of him than anyone else, anyway.”

 

Yuri didn’t recognize the voice of the caller at first. His tone was cold and professional. It was a tone he’d rarely ever heard from him. “Hello, I’m calling from _The New Yorker_ to inquire if Mr. Nikiforov is available for an interview sometime this week.” They were the kind of words people rehearsed before actually saying them to anyone. “We are doing a piece on 100 of the most influential people in the last quarter of a century and would like to include him on the list.”

Yuri’s jaw dropped. “Y-Yuuri?”

“Yes?”

He saw the new second assistant give him a curious look and straightened in his chair. “Let me look at his schedule.” He pulled up Victor’s schedule, trying to keep his usual bored expression on his face.

“This interview will take place outside the Elias-Clarke building.”

“Of course.” That one was a given. He didn’t even need to say it.

“I will send you the address once I find a suitable place,” Yuuri promised.

“Thursday between noon and 2 pm is free,” he said as soon as he found the free slot.

“That’s no good.”

Yuri’s jaw almost dropped a second time. No one ever told Victor what time didn’t suit them! Victor was the one who decided on the time and people took what they got, even if they had to reorganize a whole week to make it work for them.

He moved on to the next week. “I have next Monday at 5 pm,” he offered, wondering if Yuuri would turn it down as well.

“That will do. Thank you.” There was a pause, as if Yuuri was considering his next words. Yuri waited, wondering if there was anything else he needed. “Don’t tell him my name, please.”

“If you wish.” He made sure to keep his tone level as he said goodbye before hanging up. _Well! Here’s a turnaround! Who knew Yuuri had it in him?_

He sighed and returned to worrying about a present for Beka.

“Who was that?” the second assistant asked.

“A journalist from _The New Yorker_. They want to do an article about Victor,” Yuri answered, wondering if that was actually true.

“Of course they do!” the second assistant exclaimed. “Victor is such an inspiration!”

“He certainly is,” Yuri agreed, thinking of the previous second assistant.


	3. An Interview

It was a small café, out of the way of everything else. In the midst of tall skyscrapers it looked like a child that had gotten lost. That’s not to say that it was hard to find, if you knew the address. It had a personality of its own, which probably said a lot about the person who picked it as the location for their interview, but it said nothing to him.

He sat alone at one of the tables facing the door and waited. As each person walked in he wondered how he would know they were there to see him. Would they head for his table? Would they wave?

There was a lull for the next five minutes and he glanced at his watch. They were late. They wanted to interview him and they were late.

He imagined telling them off when they finally arrived, or just getting up and leaving with the words “thank you for wasting my time”. He could probably hint at being friends with their boss (this was a lie: he’d never even talked to the editor of _The New Yorker_ , but they wouldn’t know that).

He could…

Victor Nikiforov, editor of _Runway_ , the recipient of several awards, a man whose name was written into the history of fashion saw Yuuri Katsuki enter the café and panicked.

His assistant had scheduled an interview for him with _The New Yorker_ for an important article and he’d agreed to it. He knew what Yakov would’ve said if he found out that Victor had declined.

After all the bad publicity, he needed all the good publicity he could get.

And here was Yuuri Katsuki walking towards him. Maybe he was just hallucinating, or seeing someone who looked a bit like Yuuri and his brain was telling him it really was Yuuri. Hadn’t he read an article about something like that once?

The person got closer and still obstinately looked like Yuuri.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Nikiforov,” he said as soon as he walked up to his table. “I’m here to interview you for _The New Yorker_.”

 _Oh my god! It’s you! It’s really you! I mean: of course it’s you! Who else would they send to interview me? It didn’t take you long to get over what happened, I see. You moved on. You wrote that article for_ Fantastic Man _and now you will write about me in your magazine!_

“May I join you?” he asked, as if he needed to.

Victor merely nodded.

What was he supposed to do? Get up and shake his hand? What was he supposed to say? He was convinced that if he opened his mouth now he would say something stupid.

Instead he took Yuuri in hungrily with his eyes.

The past four months had changed him, but only slightly. He put on a bit of weight. There was colour in his face now. Victor felt a pang of guilt as he realized how much healthier Yuuri looked. Healthier, yes, but was he happier?

His heart beat faster as Yuuri went to the counter to order something to drink. Every single one of his mannerisms was so painfully familiar. It was still Yuuri, dear, _dear_ Yuuri.

He felt a lump rise in his throat.

Yuuri returned to his seat. “Your name came up as a possible candidate for this project, but we require your consent and, of course, if at any point my employer decides that you don’t satisfy our criteria, the article won’t be published.” It sounded like a standard form of words, and was completely impersonal, as if he was talking to a total stranger.

Victor nodded when Yuuri paused and waited expectantly.

“Do I have your permission to record this interview?” he asked.

Victor swallowed, as discretely as he could, acting as if he was taking a moment to consider. “Yes.”

Yuuri pulled out his phone, hit record and placed it on the table between them. “Yuuri Katsuki recording an interview with Victor Nikiforov,” he said for the benefit of anyone who might find the recording in the future.

He shifted forward in his seat. “I’ve gone over your biography,” he began, “and I have a few questions.”

Victor nodded, remembered the recording and said. “Yes?”

“In your interviews you never give the same reason twice for choosing the fashion industry. Why is that?”

It was a typical question for the press, but here was Yuuri asking it and Victor knew he couldn’t lie.

“I guess I don’t really remember the reason,” he said, forcing a polite smile. “I’ve been designing outfits for as long as I can remember.” _Sometimes I can’t stop, but you must remember that._

Yuuri gave a small nod and sipped his drink.

Victor watched his hands and fought down the wave of memories that rose unbidden. He clutched his own hands on his lap to keep them from reaching out and touching Yuuri’s.

Usually he deflected the press’s questions. If they didn’t do enough research he spotted that quickly and jumped in with answers that were completely wrong.

“Where did you study?” they would ask.

“In Oxford,” or “at Harvard,” or “at the Moscow Institute of Fashion” were all answers with a trap. Especially if they nodded along and wrote them down.

But Yuuri had actually sat down and thoroughly studied his biography. He approached it with the benefit of knowing him better than anyone else. He didn’t need to ask about past affairs (a subject so many interviewers favoured). He’d formed his own opinions on that side of Victor’s life, Victor was sure of it.

“You started your lingerie line while still at university,” Yuuri said, “and worked on it with Chris.” Victor waited for the question. Yuuri went on thoughtfully, “I suppose it was an idea that started off as a bet, or just to prove that you could really do it.”

It wasn’t a question, but it did lead to one on Victor’s side. _Just how well do you understand me?_

There was something discomforting about a past lover digging through your whole life and then writing an article analyzing it as if you were long-dead.

Victor’s eyes remained fixed on Yuuri’s face. Would he blush? Would he look away? But the journalist returned the stare with barely a blink.

 _Did I ever really know you?_ Victor suddenly thought, feeling his blood run cold. _Was it really all an act or was I just really blind?_

“And how successful was it?” Yuuri asked. “There don’t seem to be any sales figures anywhere, but do _you_ know?”

“I don’t remember,” he said. What did that past matter when there was another past to think about?

“But you must’ve had some kind of feel for it. What did people think of what you made?” Yuuri pressed on.

“What did _you_ think?” Victor asked and watched Yuuri’s face. “You wore it. What is your opinion?” It probably sounded like a blow in revenge, but he was suddenly curious. He couldn’t remember if Yuuri had ever told him if he liked it or not.

“I remember,” Yuuri whispered and Victor watched him blush. He bit his lip and waited for his skin to resume its usual colour and went on. “Where do you get your inspiration?” A blow from a different side now.

It was a fencing match. That’s what it was.

And he hadn’t come prepared when Yuuri had very clearly done all his research and then rose unbidden with a weapon in his hands.

He wondered why Yuuri was doing this. When Yuuri left him in Paris he assumed the boy would move somewhere far away like so many of his past lovers had. He hadn’t expected Yuuri to boldly march back into his life and demand an interview.

Was this his answer to all the bad press they’d gotten? Was this his revenge on Victor? Was he merely here to show that he’d moved on?

Or was there something else?

He watched Yuuri’s face remain mostly impassive. He was suppressing his emotions and Victor wondered what they were.

“I draw my inspiration from my lovers,” Victor admitted, daring Yuuri to publish that in his article. “Earlier this year I drew it from Yuuri Katsuki.” He paused and debated what he could possibly add to that. The next words slipped out unbidden, “I still do.”

Yuuri got up to return his empty cup to the front counter and thank the barista for his drink.

He came back with the same calm look on his face. “And where do you see yourself in the future?” he asked. “In, say, five years? Will you move on from _Runway_ , or stay on until retirement?”

What did that question mean? Was it a hint? Was it some kind of suggestion? If Victor left, would Yuuri return to him?

Yuuri’s mind was a closed book, or, perhaps, written in a different language entirely.

The future? He barely ever planned beyond the next four months. Who knew where he’d be in 5 years?

“Anyone at _Runway_ would tell you that without me there is no _Runway_ ,” he said, repeating an answer he’d given once. “What more can I add to that?”

“That’s all the questions I have,” Yuuri said. He stopped the recording and slid the phone back into his pocket.

He had an odd vision then: five years go by and there he was, still the editor of _Runway_ , still at the very top and still very much alone.

Yuuri rose from his seat and thanked him for the interview and then he turned away and left.

Fate had thrown him a second chance for the first time in his life and here was Yuuri and who cared what article he wrote and what did it matter if he came out sounding cold and in control, or if the article showed his real soul all the way down to every fault? Who would see him now and would it matter? Yuuri was _right there_ and within reach. Yuuri, who’d written about them as if they’d barely known each other. Yuuri who’d calmly interviewed him as if he was a mere stranger. Yuuri who was right there and leaving now and moving further away to disappear forever and Victor would probably never see him again and no force in the world could bring him back and…

He ran, doing what he should’ve done four months earlier, and chased Yuuri only to catch up with him next to a taxi just as it stopped for him.

“Yuuri,” he called and the boy turned and still that face was calm.

He thought of the naïve young man in his office.  _“I’m smart and I learn fast.”_

_You do. Oh god, you really, really do._

“Yuuri,” he said again, feeling like an idiot.

“Yes?” There was just the hint of something, a tremble, or it could’ve been his imagination. Was it his imagination?

“I… I want to see you again.” And there it was: the truth, plain and simple. “I know what I did wrong.” Or, if not, then he would find out. He promised himself this. “I want a second chance.”

Yuuri remained silent.

He wouldn’t lower his eyes now. He just wouldn’t. He needed to see Yuuri’s face and understand what he was thinking. “I can’t just let you walk away, as if… as if we’re total strangers.”

Yuuri opened his mouth and Victor held his breath. He was prepared to wait forever as everything hung on Yuuri’s next words.

“I might need a second interview,” he said and his face spread into a smile.

It was the most beautiful thing Victor had ever seen. He was so stunned, that Yuuri’s words didn’t even register in his brain.

And he said, because Yuuri’s answer hadn’t gone through to him, “We can just meet up for a chat, or… or we can walk Makkachin.”

Yuuri opened the door and stopped before getting in. “I like that. Let’s walk Makkachin.”

He cursed the car door between them. His hands rose without any input from his brain and he realized he was reaching for Yuuri even though there was no way he could touch him.

Yuuri gave a quiet goodbye, climbed into the taxi, closed the door and drove away.

Victor stood and watched him go, unable to tear his eyes away from the disappearing car.

“Sir!” a voice called.

He turned as if in a dream.

“Sir!” a young woman ran up to him. “You left your wallet behind.”

He took it with a nod and pulled his phone out of his pocket to call his driver.

Yuuri had actually said yes!

 

Everything inside Yuuri shook as he took the taxi home. He put his hands over his face. His heart was beating fast. The interview had taken every ounce of his self-control and he couldn’t relax even now.

He didn’t know how he’d feel when he saw Victor again. He didn’t know how he would act. There was the terror, yes, but there was also _joy_.

He’d spent several hours preparing for this. He’d even practiced with a magazine with Victor’s portrait on the front cover propped up in front of him. But it wasn’t the same. The picture couldn’t prepare him for what it would be like to sit across from Victor himself.

It was hard to just sit down and interview him, so he invented an excuse to step away for a minute. It gave him a chance to breathe, if anything.

He watched Victor’s face throughout the interview. The editor kept all of his emotions in check, barely giving away any hint of what he thought of Yuuri’s questions.

The reference to the lingerie line got more out of Yuuri than Victor. It was also the reason he’d slipped up and asked the one question he’d promised himself to never, ever ask.

His heart hammered in his chest as he waited for Victor’s answer. When it came all he could do was run off again. He felt like a swimmer underwater who needed to keep rising back up to the surface for air.

During the course of his research he’d found himself more and more interested in Victor’s biography. He really wanted to know the answers to the questions he’d asked, or most of them anyway. It was just a shame that his understanding of what Victor did came _after_ he’d quit his job.

When he ran out of questions he felt a pang of disappointment. It was all over for Victor after all. He walked away, resigning himself to never seeing Victor again.

 

_“Yuuri!”_

_He turned at the sound of his name as his heart leapt in his chest._

_Victor was running towards him. He stopped and there was an expression on his face Yuuri had never seen before: he looked terrified. “Yuuri,” he repeated._

_“Yes?” His voice shook and he couldn’t trust himself with more words than that._

_“I can’t just let you walk away, as if… as if we’re total strangers.” They weren’t exactly the words he wanted to hear, but they were close enough._

_“I might need a second interview,” he said half-jokingly. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face if he’d wanted to._

 

His phone rang, drawing him back to the present. He pulled it out of his pocket and checked who the caller was before answering. “Hello, Yuri!”

“I’m sitting here in a bar all alone and Beka just told me he’ll only be here in an hour.” He didn’t say “do you want to join me?” or even “come and join me”, but Yuuri understood.

“On my way. Which bar are you in?”

He listened to Yuri’s answer and smiled. Even when they weren’t working together, Yuri was looking out for him. It went without saying that Yuri would ask how the interview went.

What could he say about it? The truth, obviously.

But if he told Yuri that he agreed to see Victor again, Yuri would try to talk him out of it. Everyone he knew would try to talk him out of it.

 _Well, I haven’t seen him yet,_ Yuri thought. _And we made no definite plans, so I’ll talk about the article instead._ It felt like a lie, but he promised himself that if it ever led to anything and if it came up in a conversation, he’d definitely tell the truth.

But what was there to tell now?

Forty minutes later Yuuri was telling Yuri all about the article he was working on, referencing Victor’s contributions to the world of fashion and comparing him to the other people on the list of most influential people in the last quarter of the century.

Yuri listened with a smile. He’d already had a few drinks before Yuuri joined him.

“Otabek and I are moving in together,” he suddenly said.

“Really? Congratulations!”

Yuri smiled wider. “He wants a homecoming party, so I’m inviting all my friends and he’s inviting his. I already know they’ll be really unfashionable, but we’ll just have to compensate for that, right?” He elbowed Yuuri lightly.

_Is he…?_

Yuri raised his glass and regarded it wistfully. “Otabek is too good for me,” he said in a voice that was almost drowned out by the loud music.

_How many drinks has he had? Because he looks really drunk._

Yuuri had gone out drinking with Yuri a few times already. He would stick to pop and other non-alcoholic drinks himself while Yuri would drink a couple of glasses and tell Yuuri everything that was on his mind.

And then he’d call the next day to take it all back.

It was endearing. In its own way.

Yuri went on about Otabek’s good qualities and Yuuri wished he knew how to stop him, especially once Yuri steered into too much information territory.

“So there…” Yuri murmured. His head dropped onto the bar where he’d already placed his hands and he fell asleep.

Yuuri moved to pick him up when an outstretched arm stopped him.

“I’ll take him home,” Otabek said.

“When did you get here?”

“Not too long ago.” Otabek picked Yuri up. There was a gentle smile on his face and it warmed Yuuri’s heart. “Take care of yourself,” Otabek said. “He’s very worried about you.”

Yuuri felt his face redden slightly. “Thank you.”

 

Victor was the sort of man who ignored the little prods life gave him. To get the right kind of response out of him one had to give him a blow to the head. Metaphorically, of course.

He spent the evening feeling as if he was in a dream. He went home still in a bit of a shock. Had he really met Yuuri? Had they really agreed to meet again?

 _But when?_ He asked himself. _As soon as possible!_

He hesitated before calling Yuuri. He remembered how he’d tried again and again in Paris until an automated voice told him that Yuuri’s phone was switched off.

Had Yuuri changed his number since?

His thumb trembled as he hit the call button.

_Ring._

What if he changed his mind?

_Ring._

What if he changed his number?

 _Ring_.

What would he do?

_Click._

“Yuuri, hello.” He paused, because he’d been so busy worrying that Yuuri would change his mind or that this wasn’t Yuuri’s number that he hadn’t considered what he would say. “I… um… calling about…”

“You have reached the voicemail box of Yuuri Katsuki. Please leave a message and I will get back to you as soon as possible.”

Voicemail. Right.

For some reason talking to a recording was much easier. He left a formal message, asking for Yuuri’s time and hung up. And then he realized what he’d done.

He left a formal message. As if they were about to have a business meeting.

He called back, determined to leave a better message this time and got Yuuri himself.

“Hello?” The sound of Yuuri’s voice made Victor drop into a chair.

“It’s me,” he said and hated himself.

Yuuri started to say something, but Victor interrupted without thinking. “Please ignore the message I left for you. I wanted to know when you wanted to meet again.” His heart was beating so loudly he was sure Yuuri would hear it.

“Um…” Yuuri hesitated and Victor’s heart fell.

“If you changed your mind…” he began and trailed off, unsure how that sentence would end.

“I haven’t.”

There was a long silence after those words as Victor let them sink in.

“Friday,” Yuuri said quietly. “At 10 in the morning.”

And Victor knew he would rearrange his entire morning to make this work. He had to. There was just no way he would risk asking for a different time.

“Alright,” he said. “Friday.”

He tried to imagine what expression was on Yuuri’s face as he agreed. Was Yuuri smiling? Was it the same smile that had thrown him off so much when he saw it earlier?

He held the phone to his ear, unwilling to say goodbye and hang up. Yuuri was silent. How long could they go on like this?

“I… I need to go,” Yuuri said. “Goodbye.” And hung up.

Victor felt like an idiot. Too late he thought of all the clever things he could have said. Too late he even considered that he should’ve tried to charm Yuuri into asking for a day earlier than Friday.

He put his phone away and dropped into a chair.

 _Friday_.

Would he be ready when the time came?

_Friday._

He was going to see Yuuri again!

 

Yuuri sat in front of his laptop. It was getting really late. He reclined in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. Outside someone screamed to loud, booming music. A bunch of people burst out laughing. Somewhere people were having fun. He stretched and dismissed them all from his thoughts.

He had several dozen tabs open at the same time and none of them seemed to hold the answer he was looking for.

There were old editions of magazines lying on his desk. He even had a physical copy of the one with Victor as Louis XIV. The picture watched impassively as Yuuri got up and paced the room.

He didn’t expect his research into Victor’s biography to stump him so much, but he stumbled into something he couldn’t understand. It just made no sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've noticed that I'm ending every chapter with a cliffhanger. Sorry about that.


	4. A Date

There was no framework. There were no rules, no guidelines for how he should act. He’d prepared for the interview. He’d memorized his questions. He’d practiced. But how did someone prepare for… whatever this was?

He didn’t dare let himself think what it was supposed to be. The word alone stirred up too many memories and not all of them were pleasant. He didn’t even dare try to imagine how it would go, too scared to get his hopes up, too scared that they would all be shattered.

Yuuri dressed that morning as if it was just another day at work. He stood in front of the mirror and took in his reflection.

He looked terrified. He _was_ terrified.

It hadn’t been easy, rebuilding himself piece by piece. The road from Paris to this day had been a rough one. And he knew all too well that when he put the pieces back some of them were missing and some of them were the wrong way round, or in the wrong place entirely.

There were some things he couldn’t do anymore. Like _dates_.

There. He’d thought it now. The word was no longer just in the back of his mind, but in the front as well, taking the most prominent spot in the front and centre.

A date.

His eyes searched around desperately for some distraction from this thought and found one: the pile of magazines on the corner of his table. The question about Victor’s biography was back and uppermost in his mind.

But he couldn’t ask him! Whether or not it counted as a date, there was just no way it was a good time to ask Victor about it. If there was one lesson life had taught him, it was that people should never mix their private lives with work and he wasn’t about to do that now.

_I can schedule another interview. Formally. Call Yuri up and tell him I need a second one. But then he’ll get suspicious. He’ll ask how the first one went and realize I’m dating Victor again._

_Am I dating Victor again?_

He snatched up his things and rushed out. At this rate he would be late for work.

 

Several hours later Yuuri stood outside Victor’s apartment, glancing at his watch every other second and wondering if he’d gotten the time wrong. This was the time they’d agreed on, wasn’t it?

Maybe Victor had changed his mind. Maybe this was all a bad idea. Maybe he’d heard wrong. Maybe the interview had ended with him just walking away and he’d dreamt the invitation and now someone will see him and they’ll tell Victor that Yuuri stood outside his apartment for some reason and Victor will think…

Yuuri wasn’t completely sure what Victor would think at that point, so his brain doubled back to his previous thought.

This was a bad idea. He’d been hurt. Yuuri could still remember how much it had all hurt. The first few days after he’d quit his job he’d just locked himself in his room, unwilling to come out, refusing to see anyone. To his surprise, his family hadn’t said anything. They waited for him to come out and then they offered what help they could, without mentioning anything about love or editors. They’d acted as if he had the flu.

Yuuri put his hand over his heart.

He had his dream job. They treated him professionally and with respect.

Yuuri sighed. He looked at his watch for the thousandth time. Victor was 30 minutes late, which probably meant that he wasn’t coming. He turned away and searched the road for a taxi.

“Yuuri!” The sound of Victor’s voice made him turn around at a speed that was almost painful. His heart beat faster and he _knew_ that this was what he’d wanted all along.

“Victor!” He ran the few steps between them and stopped awkwardly halfway.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Victor said. “I had a schedule mix-up. Makkachin was at the vet earlier, but he’s here now.”

Yuuri crouched down in front of the dog and petted him. “Hello, Makkachin!”

Makkachin barked happily and licked his face.

“I’m glad to see you too!” He stood up. “Where will we go?”

“There is a dog park nearby,” Victor suggested. “We can walk to it, or drive.” He paused. “Which would you prefer?” The question sounded odd, as if he wasn’t used to asking it.

Yuuri smiled. “Let’s walk.”

It was very awkward. Yuuri avoided taking Victor’s hand and when Victor offered him Makkachin’s leash Yuuri took it, trying to make their hands touch as briefly as possible. He didn’t even look in Victor’s direction.

They walked in silence until Victor brought up the weather and they both agreed that it was a nice day and hoped the next day would be nice too.

_Why did I ever think this was a good idea? This is so awkward! I should’ve found an excuse not to go._ He sighed. _I should’ve known this would be really painful!_

“What are you thinking about?” Victor asked.

“N-nothing,” Yuuri lied. _You haven’t changed one bit: you still don’t see how I feel. You still have no idea how much pain you’re causing others._

They finally got to the park and Yuuri bent down and removed Makkachin’s leash. Makkachin sat down and stared at him.

“You’re a really smart boy,” Yuuri said. Why was it easier for him to talk to Victor’s dog than to Victor himself?

Makkachin spotted another dog and ran off to say hello.

They stood in silence for a several minutes.

“How is your new job?” Victor asked.

“Good.” _Why can’t I think of anything else to say? Oh God, how did I ever think I was ready to meet him like this? I’m not. I’m really, really not._

“Are you happy?”

_What sort of a question is that? How can I be happy? How can he not see that I’m unhappy?_ “It’s the job I’ve always wanted,” Yuuri said.

“Sometimes the job we always wanted turns out to be a job we never wanted.” There was a short pause after those words. “Is it like you imagined it to be?”

_Why are you questioning me? I’m not your assistant anymore! I have my own life and it has nothing to do with you! Or are you hurt that you can’t influence my life anymore?_ “I work with intelligent people who respect me. My boss appreciates me and is always honest with me.” He stopped and looked at Victor. He could see he’d struck a nerve.

“Yuuri, I’m sorry. About everything.”

“Are you? Or are you just saying that?” _This is just a mistake. Nothing more than a mistake!_

“Yuuri –”

“No, forget it. I’m leaving,” he turned away and made a run for it before Victor could stop him.

 

“Is that your phone?” Phichit asked.

He sat in a café with Yuuri, having lunch with his friend. Or tried to, but he was the only one eating. Yuuri was just pushing his food around the plate with his fork. His eyes were lowered, but Phichit hadn’t missed that they were red. Yuuri was suffering, he could see that, and this time it was over something new.

He’d done the right thing, then, when he’d rescheduled that entire morning to make it to this lunch. Somewhere designers and art directors were paying the price, but they didn’t matter.

Yuuri needed him. He really needed him.

Yuuri pulled out his phone, checked who the caller was and declined the call. “Wrong number.”

Phichit could see the lie in his face. It was obvious from the way his expression had changed and from the way he’d jumped when the phone rang that it was someone else.

_It’s him. He’s calling you now. But why now? And how do I bring up the subject?_ “So will you get a dog?” Phichit asked, returning to their conversation.

He liked the idea and had even told Yuuri so. He’d heard that some therapy was done with animals and maybe a dog was exactly what Yuuri needed.

But this topic upset Yuuri even more.

_Ok. I have to risk it._ Talking to Yuuri for the past few months about certain subjects had been too much like stepping out over a frozen lake: you treaded slowly and listened for the sounds of cracking and – when they inevitably came – you panicked and prayed for a miracle. To make it worse, Phichit felt responsible, if not fully, then at least partially for Yuuri’s mental state.

Sometimes he got better and sometimes – worse, and for the longest time Phichit was convinced that Yuuri was on the mend, but, no, here it came again.

“Yuuri, did something happen?”

He watched Yuuri fidget. He looked ready to make a run for it. His eyes were definitely going around the room, as if searching for an exit. The metaphorical lake was thawing and Phichit was stuck right in the middle of it.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he added, “but if you need my help in any way, let me know.” _I’m starting to think about getting you a psychiatrist._

Yuuri drew in a breath of air.

_Here it comes,_ Phichit thought.

“I saw Victor today. We-we’d arranged to meet.” He stopped and stared down at his hands. “I must be mad,” he whispered.

_Yes. Probably. Hell, if I know! All I know is that you can’t seem to escape him no matter what you do. Oh God! This is about that stupid letter, isn’t it? I knew I should’ve thrown it out!_ “Did he… say something?”

“He was questioning me! Like – like I’d done something wrong!”

“Questioning you about what?” _And how and when did you arrange this… whatever-it-was? No, wait. One question at a time._

“My work, if I was happy and all that! Who gave _him_ the right to ask that?” Yuuri exclaimed, his voice breaking.

There was a short pause. _It sounds like a regular conversation to me,_ Phichit admitted despite himself. “Was he just… making conversation?” he suggested carefully. “Or was he implying something?”

“Oh, I don’t know! I don’t know _anything_!” Yuuri interrupted and covered his face with his hands.

The phone rang again. Phichit gave it a dirty look.

“Turn it off,” he said.

Yuuri lowered his hands and looked at the phone and then back at Phichit. “Why?”

“Then you won’t have to hear him calling you and he might get the message.”

“But what if someone I need to talk to calls?”

“Okay, forget that. Answer it and…” Phichit looked into Yuuri’s face. This would have to be done carefully. He took Yuuri’s hands. “Yuuri, do you _want_ to talk to him?” _I don’t want you to talk to him, but you need to decide what_ you _want. And you have to decide now._

“I … uh…” Yuuri avoided Phichit’s face.

“He’s not your boss anymore. You don’t have to do what he wants,” Phichit said in a calm tone of voice, giving Yuuri’s hands a reassuring squeeze. “You can do what _you_ want. And what _do_ you want? If you don’t want to see or talk to him again, pick it up and tell him that. Threaten him with the police, if you have to. And if he bothers you again, go to them. But if you _do_ want to see him again, then... well…” Phichit sighed. “You have to be sure…” _Because it sounds like the worst idea in the world right now._

The phone went silent.

“Tell him. Be as direct as you can, so he doesn’t get the wrong idea.” He shifted his chair so that he was sitting right next to Yuuri. “And remember: you’re not alone, Yuuri. I’m here and I will do everything I can to help. And if he hurts you again, I’ll make him regret it.”

“Thank you.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. The phone didn’t ring.

“He stopped calling,” Yuuri whispered.

“Good. He’s giving you space. Think, Yuuri: what do _you_ want?”

Phichit waited patiently for Yuuri to work out the answer.

“I want to see him again,” Yuuri whispered. _Of course you do…_

“Then call him.” Phichit held out the phone. He felt like a terrible friend, but what could he do? What was there to do when Yuuri was drawn back to Victor’s side like a moth to a flame? What could he do but be there for Yuuri whenever he needed him?

Yuuri’s hands shook as he dialed Victor. “H-hello, Victor?”

Phichit sat close enough to hear the other end of the conversation.

“Yuuri! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you.” _He sounds genuine enough._

Yuuri took a deep breath and looked at Phichit. “I want to meet again.”

Victor was quiet, as if waiting for more.

“I want… I want to walk Makkachin again. How is he?”

Phichit put an arm around Yuuri.

“He’s fine. I took him home. He’s on my lap. Makkachin, say hello to Yuuri.”

There was excited barking at the sound of Yuuri’s name.

The tiniest hint of a smile appeared on Yuuri’s face.

_Maybe there’s a chance this won’t be a complete disaster,_ Phichit thought.

“Hello, Makkachin,” Yuuri said.

Makkachin barked again.

“He’s very happy to hear you,” Victor said.

“Where are you right now?”

“At home. I couldn’t go back to work. I think I caught something yesterday.” He coughed unconvincingly.

Yuuri looked at Phichit, but said nothing.

_Sounds like he’s as upset as you are,_ Phichit thought.

“I-I hope you get better.”

“Thank you.”

“May I?” Phichit asked and Yuuri gave him the phone. “Hello, Mr. Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont here, but I’m sure that you can recognize my voice. If you hurt Yuuri in any way at all, I will make sure you regret it, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Phichit handed the phone back to Yuuri. _I’ll give him hell, if he does anything to you, Yuuri._

“T-tomorrow?” Yuuri asked.

“Same time?” Victor offered.

“Okay. See you then.”

“See you then.”

Yuuri hung up and put his phone away.

“If he does anything you don’t like, I want you to call me,” Phichit said. “Promise you’ll do that, no matter what time it is. Okay?”

Yuuri nodded.

He took Yuuri’s hands again. “I’ll be honest: I don’t like this one bit. If I could, I’d make sure he never came near you again. Please promise me that if he hurts you, you won’t keep forgiving him, that you’ll leave him once and for all.”

Yuuri lowered his head and said nothing.

 

The next dog walk Yuuri stayed until the end. Victor found a safe topic for conversation: dogs. Pretty soon Yuuri admitted that he was thinking of getting a dog himself and Victor told him the story of how he’d bought Makkachin. How he’d shown up at the pet store, expecting to spend forever picking which dog he wanted and how Makkachin had picked him out himself.

“I think we understood each other the moment we met,” Victor concluded.

They walked back together. Victor offered Yuuri the leash and Yuuri took it, his hand brushing against Victor’s briefly. They stopped outside Victor’s apartment, acting as if Yuuri had never been inside. As if all of that had never happened.

“What kind of a dog do you want to get?”

“A poodle,” Yuuri answered without thinking and then realized that Victor might jump to conclusions. “O-or a cocker spaniel,” he added.

“Poodles are a good breed,” Victor nodded thoughtfully.

They stood in silence for several seconds.

“I need to go,” Yuuri said at last.

“Can we meet tomorrow?”

Yuuri hesitated, but only for a second. “Yes.”

 

Two dog walks later Yuuri found Victor standing alone at their usual meeting spot.

“Makkachin is getting his fur cut,” Victor said. “They said it will take another hour. Can you wait with me?”

“Sure.”

They stood outside, not knowing what to say to each other. Yuuri kept his hands in his pockets.

“I… uh… I wanted to get you something,” Victor said finally. “Nothing big, but I couldn’t think of anything for a long time. Consider it a present from… well, if you’ll accept me as a friend, then from a friend.” He pulled a small box from his pocket and handed it to Yuuri.

It was wrapped in dark blue paper and tied with a white ribbon.

“I’m not very good at wrapping presents, unfortunately.”

Yuuri didn’t so much take it as hold out his hand and accept it from Victor. He pulled the ribbon off slowly. It was tied very neatly in a bow. _You’re too harsh on yourself. This is very nicely wrapped._

The box had a dark blue tie and Yuuri smiled as soon as he saw it. He looked up into Victor’s face.

“You know how much I like ties.”

_Not as much as those handkerchiefs._ “I still have it,” he said aloud accidentally.

“Sorry?”

Yuuri blushed. “I- I still have the handkerchief you gave me.”

“I’m flattered,” Victor said. “I’ve come up with a new pattern, so you can wear it, if you like.”

“A new pattern?” Yuuri heard the tone in his own voice and realized too late how much it had meant to him to have that handkerchief. Too often when the pain got too much to bear, he’d pull it out of his pocket and press it to his face and it was suddenly easier to breathe. He didn’t know why it helped, but it did.

How had he missed such an important detail? He could see it peeking out of Victor’s pocket, very obviously different from the one he used to have.

Missed it? Or merely avoided looking at it, too scared to confront the memories it would stir up?

Victor pulled the new handkerchief out of his breast pocket. “If I wasn’t afraid of offending you, I would offer it to you.”

Yuuri stared at it. White and red. “It’s yours,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on it. What face was Victor making now? He didn’t dare look.

Victor still held it and Yuuri raised one hand slowly and put his fingers on it.


	5. The Handkerchief

_They always thought that fashion was fast, that it was about selling you more things and leaving you with a permanent craving for something new, about a constant sense of change, but Victor never saw it that way. The fashions in his magazine were always a reflection of his soul, what went on in his heart and what troubled his mind._

_Yuuri had brought him inspiration and Victor found himself exploring the themes of love and life in every issue. He’d been inspired before, but never like this. When Yuuri left he felt it all drain away and, like a heavy snowfall in a spring in full bloom, it very nearly killed him._

_A month later he started to change everything. He told himself he was moving on, but when he came up with a different pattern to replace his signature one he realized what he was really doing: he was running away._

_He didn’t want constant reminders of what was and what could’ve been and that pattern had become a symbol of what could’ve been._

_He was new, he told himself, he was reborn, but his signature pattern told another tale: red shapes on a white background, like drops of blood in the snow._

I’ve torn it out. It’s done. No more.

 

 _The first issue of_ Fantastic Man _with Yuuri Katsuki on the cover had dealt him a painful blow. It shocked him to the core when he saw it on his desk. It had been buried under all the other magazines brought in by the new second assistant (no longer_ his _Yuuri and not even_ a _Yuri). He dropped onto his chair, covered his face with his hands and wept._

_He wept the tears that hadn’t come when Yuuri walked away and now they came late and unwanted._

I have no one to blame but myself.

_And that was the worst part. It was so easy to point a finger and say “No, I didn’t do it. It was them.” But the fingers all pointed at him and even the press had jumped to the right conclusion for once. He’d seen the headlines. After the catastrophe that followed when he ignored the press, he paid close attention to what they wrote about him. He’d even sent the new second assistant out to get whatever newspapers mentioned him._

_The covers with Yuuri that followed stung him again and again until he started to think that every issue with_ Fantastic Man _would come with Yuuri on the cover. He noticed Yuuri’s absence from the rest of the issue and, for some reason, that stung too._

_And then came the article and a second knife dug into his heart. But what could Yuuri Katsuki have said? What would he, Victor Nikiforov, have written in his place? When he finished reading it, he called his first assistant in and told him to send everyone home. Nothing mattered. Work was cancelled for a day._

_Let them mourn. Let them celebrate. Let them do whatever they damn well liked._

_He desperately needed to answer. He knew he did. He couldn’t just leave it without any kind of response and so he spent all eternity trying to string together words on a piece of paper. For the first time in his life he couldn’t even come up with a single sentence. He’d spent years writing all kinds of letters, most of them full of sharp words and demands, all without so much as a hint that anything he asked for wouldn’t be done, and, yet, here he was, unable to write more than two words to a young man who used to be his second assistant._

_After several failed attempts he just sent the article._

_That done, he went home and got as drunk as he could before passing out._

Yuuri…

 

And now they stood outside his apartment, where they’d spent so many happy hours together, and Victor was handing Yuuri his heart and Yuuri was refusing it.

“Can I…?” Yuuri began and stopped.

_Anything, Yuuri, you can have anything you want._

Yuuri looked down nervously. “I’d like… um… no, never mind.” He took his hand away from the handkerchief and Victor thought his heart might stop.

“Tomorrow?” Victor asked, not quite certain what exactly the question was.

“I can’t. I’m going away for a week.”

Victor stopped breathing. His brain hadn’t even registered the last three words.

“I didn’t know my gift was a farewell present,” he said after a while, pulling himself together with great difficulty. “I would’ve gotten you something better, if I had known.” It was no good. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t do anything right.

Very briefly the memory of the night after Yuuri left came to him in a flash. As well as the week that followed.

“Farewell?” Yuuri repeated and finally looked him in the face. “No! No, I… I’m coming back in a week. I want… I want to see you again.”

Victor felt his heart soar. _I want to kiss you and hold you to my heart, but I dare not._ “May I call you?”

Yuuri nodded. He gave a single curt nod, a gesture that was very characteristically his and that Victor always found so endearing.

“You can call me, too, if you want,” Victor offered. The handkerchief was still in his hand. He stared down at it in some confusion, as if surprised to see it there. After some hesitation he put it away.

Still they waited.

“Is Makkachin alright?” Yuuri asked carefully.

“Yes he is. Why wouldn’t he be?”

The shock of Yuuri leaving him hit him then. It was only for a week, he tried to tell himself, only a week. But even a week was too long. He’d suffered worse, he tried to tell himself and wished he hadn’t thought that.

“He’s taking a long time,” Yuuri said.

_I’m in so much pain and all he thinks about is my dog!_

He looked at Yuuri, his mouth opening to say something sharp without him even thinking. At the last moment he held himself back and noticed the look on Yuuri’s face.

_You think I’m lying. You think I just came up with an excuse to be alone with you? You give me too much credit._

“What’s their number?” Yuuri asked. “I’ll call and find out when Makkachin will get here.”

“It’s my usual vet,” Victor told him impatiently and clapped a hand over his mouth before more words slipped out. _Surely you must remember what his number is._

Yuuri turned away.

He was going to leave and never come back. Victor had messed up! He’d messed everything up completely!

“I meant to say that he’d know to call me, if there were any problems,” Victor corrected himself.

Yuuri looked at him again. “Can I call him to check that Makkachin is okay?”

The sound of happy barking interrupted Victor before he could give an answer. Victor watched Makkachin bound toward them with a mix of emotions. Here came his one faithful companion of so many years, the only person who never left him and he was about to jump on Yuuri, he just knew it.

Makkachin leapt and Victor lost his balance. He hit the ground as Makkachin licked his face happily.

But all Victor could see was Yuuri’s smiling face looking down at him.

“I would never lie to you,” Victor suddenly said.

The smile on Yuuri’s face was gone. He’d messed up again! Why, oh, why did he have to keep messing up? How could he fix this?

Yuuri pulled Makkachin away and helped Victor up to his feet. “I need to go,” he said.

Victor clung on to Yuuri’s hand. “I hope you enjoy your trip,” his mouth said, but he was sure his eyes were saying something else. _I will miss you._

“I will look forward to your phone call,” Yuuri promised, pulled his hand free and left.

Victor watched him go with the same pain in his heart as always.

 

Two evenings later Victor plucked up his courage and called. He lay on his back on the couch in his apartment with Makkachin sprawled over his legs and listened to the sound of Yuuri’s voice. When he closed his eyes he could almost pretend that Yuuri was right there with him.

“How was your day?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“Did you do anything interesting?” Victor was running out of questions. Why was it so hard to find something to talk about?

“Not really.”

“Please tell me something, anything. I just want to listen to the sound of your voice.” Too late Victor realized he’d said those words aloud. “Um… I mean…” He had no way out of this one and just waited to hear what Yuuri would say about this.

Several terrifying seconds of silence passed and then:

“What do you want me to say?” Victor tried to tell by the tone of his voice what his reaction to this odd request was.

“Anything. It doesn’t matter. Read me your shopping list, or to do list, I don’t really care.” The words tumbled on out of him. How did Yuuri do it? How did he make Victor say things he’d meant to keep to himself?

“I-I don’t have any of those,” Yuuri stammered and Victor imagined the way the blush spread over his cheeks as he said those words. “All I have is this awful paperback novel I picked up at the airport.”

“That’s fine. Read it to me, please.” Whatever happened to charm and witty conversation?

There was the sound of shuffling around on Yuuri’s end and then he began to read. Victor closed his eyes.

 _I love you,_ he thought and felt such a strong urge to say it that he had to bite his lip in case the words escaped.

He had no way of knowing how much time had passed, for him it stood still while Yuuri read.

“… _He slammed the door and watched as the car pulled away_. Is that enough?” Yuuri asked.

 _No, I need you right here._ But he’d caught the sound of fatigue in Yuuri’s voice and glanced at the clock on his wall. “It’s late. You should go to sleep.”

“So should you,” Yuuri countered.

“I have insomnia,” Victor said.

There was a brief silence and Yuuri whispered, “I remember.”

Victor didn’t dare say anything after that.

“How is Makkachin?” Yuuri asked after a long pause.

“Good. Makkachin, say hello to Yuuri.”

Makkachin barked and they both laughed.

“I’ll call you tomorrow around this time, if that’s alright with you.”

 

Yuuri paced his hotel room, listening to two interview recordings. He stopped as he realized that the words weren’t sinking in anymore: he was just listening to the sound of Victor’s voice as his mind drifted off to the day before.

With a great deal of effort he hit the stop button and played the second recording again. He skipped ahead to the part that still troubled him.

_“That’s the big question, isn’t it? To be honest, I don’t remember.”_

He tried to remember the expression on the man’s face. Did he _really_ sound sincere? Did he really mean it or was he hiding something?

 _“I would never lie to you.”_ Victor’s words sprang up in his memory.

He’d gone through what felt like every newspaper in the past few weeks, trying to find the answer to his question, but still it eluded him. He’d decided then to go on this trip to interview more people. Someone was bound to know the answer.

But not Victor.

He couldn’t ask for a second interview with him. Yuuri wasn’t sure what exactly their relationship was at the moment, but he had a strong suspicion that if he asked for a second interview the editor wouldn’t take it the right way.

No, not _the editor_. _Victor_.

With a sigh he pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it to his face again.

He tried to focus on the next day’s interview and return to planning out the questions, but all he could think about was Victor.

Why did he change his pattern? Ever since he’d done it, the pattern on the one Yuuri had kept lost its meaning. Now it was just a piece of cloth. But he’d gotten so used to having it with him that he didn’t have the heart to leave it behind.

Still the phone remained silent.

Why wasn’t he calling? Did something happen? Did he forget?

Ring.

Yuuri grabbed the phone, nearly dropping it in his eagerness to answer it as quickly as possible.

He had the book ready just in case Victor wanted to hear him read it again.

“Hello, Yuuri,” Victor said and Yuuri felt his heart beat faster.

He turned away from his table to talk to Victor, away from the reminder of his work, away from the list of people he planned to interview.

Tomorrow he would worry about that, but today he had something else to think about.

 

Victor had managed to negotiate for permission to pick Yuuri up from the airport when he returned. He waited with a bouquet of flowers, ignoring some of the stares the other people were giving him.

The week apart had been a difficult one, but the phone calls had made it easier to get through.

When Yuuri arrived Victor presented him with the bouquet and then offered to take him home.

Yuuri smiled and accepted.

Victor felt a little bolder. “Are you hungry, Yuuri? Did they feed you during your flight?”

“They did,” Yuuri said.

“Makkachin missed you, but I couldn’t take him with me this time…” Victor paused. “So I’m asking on his behalf if you want to meet tomorrow. Just the three of us.”

Yuuri’s smile was bigger. “That sounds wonderful.”

“Do you want anything, Yuuri?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Victor watched him. _Say the word, Yuuri and I’ll run and get you anything your heart desires._ “Oh! I forgot to ask for your address,” he suddenly remembered. “Where do you want to be dropped off?”

Yuuri held the bouquet of flowers in both hands, staring down at them wistfully. “Home,” he whispered and gave his address.

Victor passed the information on to his driver and resisted the urge to shift closer.

They were quiet for the rest of the journey. When Yuuri walked away he paused for a moment and turned back to wave with a smile.

Victor’s breath caught in his throat. _He’s beautiful._

 

The next day as another dog walk ended Yuuri felt overwhelmed by disappointment. He wanted more, but didn’t know how to ask for it. They stood in silence for several minutes, feigning interest in their surroundings, not daring to make eye contact.

“Are you hungry?” Victor asked.

Yuuri was going to nod and accept the invitation that was bound to follow. He really was. And then he remembered another promise. “I already made plans for lunch,” he admitted.

“Not work, I hope?” Victor said and his lips rose in a smile, but Yuuri could see how much it pained him.

“No, lunch with a friend.” He hesitated. Would this hurt Victor more? He was bound to find out sooner or later. “I’m having lunch with Phichit,” he admitted.

He felt like a man who’d lit a fuse and was now waiting for the bang that would inevitably follow. Except that he wasn’t sure what sort of bang he would get.

Victor looked away. “Oh yes, of course. Didn’t you say that he was your friend?”

“I’ve known him since we were kids.” Yuuri lowered his eyes and fidgeted. “He always looks out for me.” _I’m sorry for the threat he made. I didn’t expect him to say something like that._

Victor was silent and after several minutes Yuuri plucked up the courage to look at him. The expression on his face was illegible.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” Yuuri began.

That odd expression on his face vanished to be replaced by an eager one. “Yes?”

“That handkerchief…” he paused uncertainly and bit his lip.

Victor slipped a hand over his breast pocket and pulled it out. He offered it to Yuuri without hesitation.

“No… I-I want my own.” He could feel the blood creeping up to his face and looked away, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the handkerchief Victor was holding out to him.

“I’ll get you one,” Victor promised quietly.

The urge was too strong and Yuuri reached out and slid his fingers over it. “It looks like blood stains…” he whispered. He raised his eyes and they met Victor’s. In that moment he realized he’d hit the nail on the head.

He opened his mouth, but it was dry. He licked his lips and Victor reached out with his other hand, taking his face carefully.

Yuuri closed his eyes and leaned into Victor’s hand. His heart hammered in his chest. They stood absolutely still and Yuuri barely dared to breathe.

“Anything you want,” Victor whispered, “is yours.”

Yuuri opened his eyes and pulled away. He remembered they were in a public place, and, worse than that – out on the street.

Makkachin stood nearby, watching them with what Yuuri imagined to be an expression of curiosity.

They were quiet and Yuuri became conscious of every sound: the cars that passed them in their rush down the street, the people’s conversations, an ambulance’s siren several streets away and a mere block away a man selling something in street.

“I need to go,” Yuuri said, “or I’ll be late.” He realized as he said those words that the thought of Phichit waiting for him didn’t bother him as much as it usually did.

“Go,” Victor said. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the usual time.”

Yuuri nodded. He walked away, stopped, turned around and waved. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” he called out.

Victor waved back.

 

Yuuri’s handkerchief arrived the next morning in a black box, wrapped in a ribbon. He’d checked his mailbox on a whim before leaving for work and snatched it up as soon as he saw it to hold it reverentially in his hands throughout the whole taxi ride.

He carried it with him to his desk, wondering if he would dare to open it there, or if he would carry it around all day.

 _I want to wear it,_ he decided as he sat down. _The next time I see him I want to wear it._

He pushed aside the stack of papers on his desk and put the box down. By a complete coincidence the list of people he was interviewing for the article about Victor was at the top. Some of the names were already crossed out, while others had a time written down next to them.

Chris’s name was next on the list, right after Isabella Yang’s, which he’d crossed out.

 _I need to talk to Chris,_ he told himself, _but I will call him in a bit. I still have time._

He realized he was just delaying the inevitable and focused on the box instead. His hands shook as he untied the ribbon and pulled out the handkerchief. He stared at the pattern.

White shapes on a red background.


	6. Victor’s Secret

Victor Nikiforov was in love. To be fair, he’d been in love for a while, but if before he was in love and suffering now he was in love and happy. (Whether the editor of _Runway_ was actually capable of being in love was, of course, a matter of opinion.) Yuri Plisetsky watched his boss walk in, head in the clouds and a dreamy smile on his face.

_What the hell? What sort of a monster are you? I’ve heard of people moving on, but this is ridiculous!_

He hadn’t seen Yuuri for several weeks and wondered how he would look him in the eye now. Now that he knew that Victor found someone else.

_Yuuri, you better have moved on as well. If you’re still pining after that bastard, I will never forgive you._

Victor was absent from the office half the time. Once, in the middle of an important meeting he glanced at his watch, got up, told everyone he wasn’t happy with their work and left. He didn’t just leave the room, either. He left the building.

He was putting more care into his appearance than before and he always had his handkerchief with his new pattern on him.

This didn’t mean that he was any nicer as a boss, but some things that had changed since Yuuri had left hadn’t changed back. Victor’s habits and attitude had mostly remained intact, but the people of _Runway_ had learned an important lesson: when they needed to they could unite against him.

A crack had formed in the image of Victor as an absolute monarch.

 _Yuuri was right about you,_ Yuri thought, _you just keep looking for someone new. You treat love affairs like you do fashion._ He felt disgusted.

All this time he’d worshipped his boss, but in came Yuuri Katsuki who’d turned everything inside out and now Yuri Plisetsky could only see Victor’s flaws. How did he ever admire someone like Victor Nikiforov?

That morning Victor came late, radiating happiness like he had for the past week and Yuri turned away to hide the expression on his face.

“Yuuri?”

He felt his blood go cold and turned back around to explain his behaviour, willing his brain to invent some sort of excuse, no matter how ridiculous it sounded, only to realize that Victor was talking to someone on the phone.

Victor paused in the doorway to his office. “It was my pleasure.”

Yuri stared in horror. _Oh no! Don’t tell me that idiot…_ He couldn’t even continue the thought. It was too terrible a thought to finish.

“When can I see you again?”

It didn’t look like the surprises would end that day. Victor Nikiforov was asking humbly for permission! Victor Nikiforov of _Runway_ (unless someone had replaced him overnight) was asking for permission!

 _Good work, Yuuri!_ He smiled to himself. _Even if I don’t understand why you’re giving him a second chance, this is the least you could do to him._

His phone rang and he picked it up just as the new second assistant walked in through the door, trying to balance four coffees on the tray.

 

Like so many other people, Victor had done things he wasn’t proud of and some of them he would never admit to doing, even if under pain of death. He’d spent several mad years in college doing the kinds of things drunk college students did, but not all of them were too terrible to ever talk about. Not at all like what he was doing now. And not just now, but for the last few days.

It wasn’t easy, but he’d managed to arrange things so that it remained secret. Or, in other words, he had to do this himself and not ask either of his assistants. He couldn’t help but feel really embarrassed about what he was doing, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

He lay on the couch, a book in his hands. There was a stack of books he’d already finished going through on the coffee table beside him.

With a sigh he turned the page, read the first sentence on the next page and gave up. He tossed it onto the pile of finished books and reclined with his eyes closed.

 _The Mastery of Love_ the bottom book read.

 _Wired for Love_ was the next one.

The books that followed all kept to the same theme. _Relationships: A Mess Worth Making_ , _The Relationship Cure_ , _When Good People Have Affairs_ and so on. The titles ranged from bad puns to witty turns of phrase, but no matter the title, the contents all seemed to be the same.

Victor lay there, thinking of Yuuri.

 

_“Victor,” Yuuri whispered, sitting Victor onto the couch, “why don’t we stay here tonight?”_

_There was a smile on Victor’s face as he went on about the joys of Paris, unable to stop. Yuuri was on his knees by the couch, holding Victor’s hand to his lips, his eyes on the editor’s face. He planted gentle kisses on Victor’s knuckles. Then he lay Victor down onto his back, climbed on top of him and kissed him._

_Victor broke the kiss and talked about the restaurant in the Eiffel Tower, which eventually led to him reminiscing about the best restaurant in Paris._

In the present Victor groaned and covered his face with his hands.  How could he have been so blind? How could he have ignored all the things Yuuri had given him?

He could still remember Yuuri’s tender caresses and the sweet taste of his lips, all the things he’d taken for granted.

He should’ve treasured every minute, worshipped the ground Yuuri walked on. He should’ve given Yuuri all he had and done everything in his power to make him happy. Instead he’d made him miserable and, what was worse, he’d missed all the signs of Yuuri’s suffering.

Had he _really_ been stupid enough to have spent whole nights with him talking about work?

He sighed and eyed the stack of books. It all felt too much like generic advice. None of it could really help him. No one out there knew how to help him, he was sure of it. Because no one else had done what he’d done.

How could he apologize for what he’d done? How could he make up for it? And, more importantly, how could he be sure he would never do it again?

 _It’s impossible,_ he thought miserably. _I need to become someone else._

Yuuri had given himself over completely and Victor had been too foolish to accept him properly or to hand himself over in return.

He gave a resigned sigh. Here was his second chance and where was the guarantee that this time he wouldn’t mess things up even worse?

 _No_ , he told himself, _I have to get this right. No matter what happens. No matter what I have to give up. I will make him happy. I will give him everything he wants and this time I will pay more attention to Yuuri. And I can start right now._

He opened his eyes, picked up his phone from the table and called. “Yuuri?”

“Hello, Victor.”

Victor was learning to understand the different tones of Yuuri’s voice. This time he caught him at an awkward moment. “I wanted to discuss our plans for tomorrow, but I can call you back, if you’re busy.”

“It’s alright,” Yuuri reassured him. “What did you have in mind?”

He wanted to eat with Yuuri. Just once he wanted to sit down for a meal with him and it didn’t even matter where or what they ate. Dinner was completely off limits. And he’d learned quickly enough that so was lunch. Yuuri had promised to have all his lunches with _someone else_. No matter what Victor did now, the figure of the editor of _Fantastic Man_ loomed over him.

But still all of these rules and promises left him with an opening.

“Yuuri, how do you feel about having breakfast with me tomorrow?”

And then he realized his mistake.

 

_“I want to serve you breakfast in bed,” Yuuri whispered passionately, his face turning red._

_“I’ve never had breakfast in bed before,” Victor admitted, sitting down on the bed._

_Yuuri shifted closer to him. “I thought expensive hotels would have it.”_

_“It seems messy.” He raised his hands and pulled them through Yuuri’s hair. “Breakfast should be at a table.”_

_“No, no, this is much better, you’ll see,” Yuuri insisted. He closed his eyes as Victor leaned in for a kiss._

Of all of Victor’s memories his most treasured one was of that morning when Yuuri cooked him breakfast. He gathered all his courage and tried to fix the situation, suppressing the memory for the moment.

“There is a hotel that serves a good breakfast. I thought maybe you would like to try it?”

The question hung in the air as he held his breath.

“Yes, I would,” Yuuri said and Victor sighed in relief.

After they agreed on when and where they would meet, after they ended the conversation Victor knew he wouldn’t sleep a wink. This would be the most important breakfast in his life and it needed lots of careful preparation.

He spent all night deciding what to wear and what to say.

 

Sunlight fell through the window, casting a gentle glow around Yuuri who smiled at Victor across the breakfast table.

What clever words had he come up with last night? What was it he was going to tell Yuuri to try to entertain him as they ate? His mind went completely blank at the sight of those eyes and that smile. He lowered his own eyes, only for them to fall on Yuuri’s hands.

And then he felt it flow through him again. Once again it came with the sensation of flying.

Yuuri raised his cup and drank, completely oblivious to what was going on in Victor’s head.

Summer breakfast. Light, pastel tones. Long flowing dresses that almost dissolve in the sunlight. Linen jackets. And then a bold stroke. Maybe one of the models is holding a bright red rose or wearing a ruby red shirt with ruffles at the shoulders.

“Victor?”

He blinked. The vision faded to be replaced by Yuuri’s dear face.

Yuuri rummaged in his bag and Victor felt his heart sink. Was he leaving already? Was the best hour of his day over so soon?

“Here,” Yuuri said, handing him a notebook.

Victor took it obediently. “What’s this for?”

“You’ve got that look on your face.” Yuuri blushed. “I- I thought you might want to…” He lowered his eyes.

Victor’s eyed the notebook for several seconds before setting it aside. “Thank you.”

They stared at each other in silence.

“I’m almost done the article about you,” Yuuri suddenly admitted, his eyes on the table again.

“I look forward to reading it.”

He watched Yuuri fidget and wondered what was wrong. He replayed the last few minutes of conversation in his head, trying to see if he’d said something wrong.

“Who will you write about next?” he asked, hoping that this question would put Yuuri at ease again.

They went on like this until breakfast ended. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were tiptoeing around a big question and wondered what it could possibly be.

But breakfast came to an end before he could get an explanation.

Victor paid the bill and they said their goodbyes.

“I’m not very impressed with their breakfast,” Victor admitted once they were outside. “We can try somewhere else next time.” He hesitated. “If… if you still want to have breakfast with me, that is.”

Yuuri took his hand and squeezed it. “I do.”

He spotted a free taxi coming down the street, released Victor and rushed towards it without so much as a backwards glance.

Victor stared after him, Yuuri’s words echoing in his head.

_I do._

 

Yuuri went over the notes again in preparation for his interview with Chris. He was all too aware that he kept dodging around the main question, not brave enough to ask it directly. He was sure that the moment he voiced it aloud he would be laughed at. It was absurd. He was certain he knew the answer himself. Almost certain. Mostly certain. But there was that little bit of doubt and he needed to be sure. To be really, really sure before the article was complete. He was determined that every word in it would be as close to the truth as possible.

All this time he’d interviewed people he didn’t feel comfortable enough with to ask this question, but next was Chris and Yuuri promised himself that this time he would ask the question. He wouldn’t circle around it, trying to lead up to it, or trick the interviewee to give him the answer. He would get straight to the point.

 

Chris smiled to himself as he went up in the elevator to Victor’s office. What an odd imagination Yuuri had! He was surprised when Yuuri had asked for the interview, but that was nothing compared to the surprise he felt when Yuuri dropped the big question on him. He’d expected generic questions about Victor and maybe a request for an embarrassing story from his past (which he would’ve been happy to provide). He hadn’t expected the question he got.

 

_Chris’s eyebrows rose in shock. “Where did you get an idea like that?”_

_Yuuri pulled several newspaper articles from his bag. “They wrote about it. Why? It seems like an odd thing to write about.”_

_Chris sat back in his chair and laughed. “But the very idea! Who would believe that?”_

_“You and I wouldn’t, because we know him, but others would.” Yuuri took a deep breath. “Look, how well do you remember those days? Are you sure that you remember events in the right order? What if this is true and this is how it started?”_

_“What does it matter now?”_

_“I’m writing an article on his life. I need to know every single fact is true.”_

_“Yuuri, are you sure this is about the article? Are you sure you’re not letting your own feelings get in the way?”_

_“Forget my feelings for a second. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you: if I find a mystery, I won’t rest until I’ve solved it. And I want to solve this one. It’s just odd. It makes no sense, but on the other hand, if you’re remembering things in the wrong order, then it makes perfect sense!”_

_“But they wouldn’t! He wouldn’t!” Chris shook his head. On the one hand Yuuri had a point, but on the other – it was pure madness. “You know him – he wouldn’t!”_

_“Are you sure? I’ve met him, you know.”_

_“What? Really?”_

_Yuuri nodded. “He’s just a normal man like you and me. He’s not the devil.” Yuuri smiled. “And yet I still feel uncomfortable saying his name aloud.”_

_Chris laughed. “That old superstition! You know, no one minds saying Phichit’s name now.”_

_“Yes, well… Anyway, I met Mr. Leroy. He’s a bit arrogant, but… well, so is Victor. And,” Yuuri’s face turned red, “that doesn’t really mean… well,” he cleared his throat, “anyway…”_

_Chris knew what Yuuri was hinting at. He stared down at his coffee, lost deep in thought. “No,” he shook his head slowly, “no, I refuse to believe it. I can’t see it happening.”_

_“That doesn’t mean it can’t happen,” Yuuri argued._

_“Yes, but…”_

_“Look, how much do you know about his private life? For the longest time people assumed that he threw his lovers aside when he got tired of them. I…” he hesitated, drew a breath and went on, “I assumed the same thing, until I learned the truth first hand. It’s perfectly possible that, once again, we’ve all got the wrong end of the stick. You don’t know what he does outside of work. Yes, he spends a lot of time at work, but he still has time... some time to spare.” He blushed again at those words._

_Chris sighed. “Yuuri, if this is all about your… relationship with him –”_

_“No, Chris, I thought about that and I know that the answer won’t make a difference to me either way. It has nothing to do with me. This is about finding the truth.”_

_“I don’t know. I’m still convinced it’s not possible.”_

_“You’re sure?” Yuuri insisted. “You’re really, really sure?”_

_“Yes,” Chris said with a nod._

The elevator dinged as he reached the top floor. He waited for the doors to open before stepping out and walking into Victor’s office.

It was no secret that the editor was in love again. It was whispered about in every hallway of the Elias-Clarke building. There were bets on the identity of his new lover and mad rumours circulated about who Victor was seen with.

Chris did his best not to think about this. He’d seen Yuuri that morning, after all.

The door to the office suite opened at his touch and he walked past the two assistants without stopping.

Victor sat in his chair with a concentrated expression on his face. The handkerchief with the new pattern stuck out of his pocket. He was sketching something when Chris came in and didn’t even look up when the art director entered.

There was a stack of sketches on the corner of the desk and Chris knew better than anyone that recently the editor’s imagination had been responsible for several stunning new pieces. He was experimenting again too.

_“How much do you know about his private life?”_

 

_It was two o’clock in the morning and both Chris and Victor had long ago passed from the realm of the sober to the world of the drunk. Chris’s boyfriend was there to supervise the drinking and make sure they got home safely. In fact, he’d been trying to get them home for the past half hour with no luck so far._

_Chris wondered if it was possible to get him drunk too._

_“I just had a brilliant idea!” Victor announced loudly, waving his arm in the air and hitting a chair. He glared at it and took his arm away. “We should do a clothing line together!”_

_“Ehh…” Chris said, waving his hand dismissively._

_“What?”_

_“Everyone is trying to do a clothing line these days.”_

_“Well, what do you suggest we do?” Victor asked, trying to fold his arms over his chest and hitting himself instead._

_Chris giggled and leaned forward. “Clothing is boring. Let’s do a lingerie line!”_

_This brilliant idea met with Victor’s dismissal. “How is that better than my idea?”_

_“Because we’ll do a lingerie line for men.”_

_Victor finally managed to fold his arms. “So what?”_

_“Oh right, because all you want to do is make women’s clothes,” Chris taunted him. “All for your girlfriend!”_

_“She’s not my girlfriend,” Victor argued._

_“Well that girl… what was her name again?”_

_Victor thought about this difficult question. “I don’t remember.”_

_Of course he didn’t remember. He never had a memory for people’s names._

_“Whatever,” Chris waved the question of her name away, “you’ve spent all semester designing clothes with her as your model. Aren’t you bored of it yet? Or is it just too hard for you?” He taunted Victor, knowing that if there was one thing he would never back down from it was a challenge._

_“And who will model the lingerie line?”_

_“Either of us could do it,” Chris pointed out, shrugging and somehow managing to hit his boyfriend. “Sorry! Hey! Do you want to model our lingerie line, dear?”_

_He laughed and Chris’s face split in a big smile. He flirted with his boyfriend as he and Victor worked out the details of this new lingerie line._

_But it wasn’t until a week later that they settled on a name. Not until Victor had come, his face wet and his heart broken. Not until Victor admitted that he’d fallen in love with someone married to someone else. Not until he admitted that they’d been his source of inspiration since the beginning of the semester._

_“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Chris asked._

_Victor sighed. “Because I didn’t think you could help me. I'm sorry I kept it secret from you.”_

_“That’s what we should call it!” He clapped Victor on the back. “Our lingerie line – Victor’s Secret!”_

_He’d meant it as a joke, but the name stuck._

_By an odd irony of fate, it was also the last time Victor ever told Chris any of his secrets._

 

Chris felt doubt spring up in his mind again. He always told people that he was the one who’d known Victor the longest. He’d been his friend since school. They’d been through so much together. And, yet, sometimes his friend did things that puzzled him. And, yet, in recent years, Chris wasn’t sure that Victor was still the same man who’d gone to school with him. Life at _Runway_ had changed him. And it hadn’t changed him for the better.

But, no, it wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t. It didn’t matter how much the facts lined up or how much Victor may have changed for the better or worse. It just wasn’t possible.

Yuuri’s question rang out in his head again and he knew it would keep him awake that night.

_“Did Victor ever go out with Mr. Leroy?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, the books Victor reads are actual ones that exist, but I have no idea if any of them are good or bad. The one I wish I could include in that list is called The Ethical Slut, but I doubt Victor would buy a book with that title.


	7. Mr. Leroy

It had taken a lot of courage on Victor’s part to ask if Yuuri was willing to meet in the evening. In fact, it had taken Yuuri apologizing and cancelling their morning plans for Victor to find that courage.

He wasn’t sure if they were meeting for drinks or dinner, but Yuuri suggested the place and Victor agreed without even stopping to think about Yuuri’s choice.

Victor spent all day agonizing over this meeting. Was it a dinner? How was he supposed to dress? Should he dress for a dinner? And for what kind of dinner? A dinner date? Or a dinner with a friend?

Yuuri wouldn’t notice the way Victor dressed. He never noticed. It hadn’t taken Victor long to see that all of the little signs he’d included so carefully in his choice of clothes went by completely unnoticed. But whether Yuuri noticed or not, Victor needed to get this right for his peace of mind. He needed to get it right, or he wouldn’t be Victor Nikiforov. How he dressed set the tone (in his mind, at the very least) and he didn’t want to get that wrong.

After two hours of indecision he dressed for dinner with a close friend and left his apartment, knowing he was late and cursing himself for it.

Sure enough, Yuuri was already there when he came. He spotted Yuuri at the bar as soon as he walked through the door and headed towards him with a smile.

And then his blood ran cold as he saw his enemy walk over to Yuuri and say something and then laugh, as if he’d just made a joke. Yuuri looked uncomfortable as he answered and the man took a seat next to him, shifting even closer.

Blinded to everything else by jealousy, his head spinning and his heart thumping hard in his chest, he barged in on them, interrupting Yuuri mid-sentence.

“This young man was waiting for me,” Victor said, his hand reaching out for Yuuri, but not quite touching him, “so you could –”

He felt Yuuri’s hand take his. “Victor,” he said in a calm tone of voice, “can you wait for me, please? Mr. Leroy was kind enough to accept an invitation for an interview from me. We were supposed to meet three hours ago, but his flight was delayed so he only got here now.”

He didn’t need to look at Yuuri’s face to do what he asked for without arguing, but he looked anyway.

“I will be right here,” he promised. _If you need me, all you need to do is call._

He made sure that Yuuri saw which table he picked before sitting down and calling a waiter over.

 

Jean-Jacques watched Victor walk off in a huff and gave Mr. Katsuki an impressed look. Who was this young man that he could tell Victor Nikiforov what to do and Victor listened to him?

There was a faint blush on his cheeks as he fidgeted with his eyes lowered. The blush faded, he raised his head and his expression became determined.

“Thank you for making the time to talk to me,” he said. “If you don’t mind, we’ll get straight to the main question. You said that those articles I sent you jogged your memory. So, please: tell me how this rivalry started and tell me everything you remember about those days.”

Jean-Jacques nodded. He could see why Victor had reacted the way he had. When Mr. Katsuki became determined it was difficult to say no.

And so he launched into the tale of a party one evening during London Fashion Week when he was introduced to Victor Nikiforov.

 

_It was hate at first sight. The moment they laid eyes on each other they knew they’d hate each other no matter what happened._

_“Mr. Leroy, allow me to introduce Mr. Nikiforov. He is the new editor-in-chief of_ Runway _.” Mr. Feltsman was doing the introductions that night. He and Jean-Jacques got along really well. At least they did until that evening._

_Mr. Leroy and Mr. Nikiforov eyed each other and fell into a polite chat, as if they’d both decided that fighting now wasn’t worth the effort. They made small talk with the ease of people who’d done it hundreds of times before. They avoided the topic of fashion, settling instead on the neutral territory of general news._

_Victor didn’t talk about himself and Jean-Jacques did likewise._

_All in all, it looked like an innocent enough first meeting and they parted on neutral terms._

_It was a good 30 minutes before the first blow was struck._

_This was where accounts became confused._

_Jean-Jacques knew it was Victor who’d made the dismissive remark about current fashion trends for both men and women. He was the one – Jean-Jacques was prepared to swear this – who’d promised to shake up the whole world of fashion, which, according to him, was what the world of fashion really needed._

_The evening went downhill from there._

_“What would a person just entering our world understand about the intricacies of how it works?” Jean-Jacques said to one of the guests. “It’s always so easy for someone on the outside to think they have all the answers and try to teach people what they think should be done.” He smiled. “I wish him luck with his ambitions and his naïve ideas. I hope he won’t be painfully disillusioned.”_

_“It’s so much easier,” Victor supposedly said, “to do nothing new and stay within the bounds of what’s already been done. There’s no risk of failure and I understand Mr. Leroy completely.”_

_The comments continued relentlessly, little jabs at each other’s egos exchanged as casually as any other words. The guests at the party waited for the inevitable deadly blow that would follow. But who would be the one to strike it?_

_There were bets, as Jean-Jacques later heard, on both of them and the split in opinions was almost even._

_And then Victor left the party._

_Jean-Jacques, feeling bored and tired, left as well._

_The blow everyone had been waiting for didn’t come until much later. Not until the rivalry between_ Runway _and_ Fantastic Man _was announced in one of the newspapers._

“Announced?” Mr. Katsuki asked, interrupting Jean-Jacques for the first time.

“Well, what else would you call it?” he asked. “I didn’t ask them to write about it and I doubt that Victor was foolish enough to ask for it either. Sometimes the press just writes whatever it wants. He smiled at Mr. Katsuki. “But you know all about that, I’m sure.”

Mr. Katsuki nodded for Jean-Jacques to continue.

 

_He couldn’t remember which newspaper started it all, but after shouting about rivalry for at least a week a popular game became “guess why they’re rivals”. The newspapers published so much nonsense about them in those days that Jean-Jacques was starting to lose track of which was the popular theory of the week. He kept track, of course: he always wanted to know what the newspapers were writing about him._

_And then one newspaper did it._

Protesting Too Loudly Too Much? _one headline read and the article that followed wasn’t much better._

“That’s the one,” Mr. Katsuki interrupted again. “Spurned lover they called you and claimed that you wanted revenge.”

“Where did they ever get an idea like that?” Jean-Jacques asked, knowing that he wouldn’t get an answer. “I didn’t go to the same school as him. I graduated before him. I hadn’t even heard his name before that day. Well,” he considered this, “apart from when people said he would be the next editor of _Runway_ , but that doesn’t really count. I dated Isabella since high school. We never had a single break-up. I never cheated on her. Why did they ever think I loved – hell, even _liked_ – Victor?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Katsuki said. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“They were probably ready to publish anything as long as it would boost their sales,” Jean-Jacques said with a shrug.

“But you shut them down,” Mr. Katsuki pointed out. “You and Victor – I mean, Mr. Nikiforov,” he corrected himself and Jean-Jacques wondered why he’d bothered, “shut all those newspapers down for publishing that. Why?”

“It was public slander,” Jean-Jacques explained. “At the time I believed that it _was_ Victor behind those rumours. For all I know, he may have thought it was my fault.” That thought brought a smile to his face.

“But it’s odd,” Mr. Katsuki said. “Why publish such an obvious lie? Why write something that when anyone who knew either of you knew how much you hated each other and, therefore, knew it was impossible.” Mr. Katsuki chewed his lip thoughtfully. “When you really hate someone it’s obvious,” he muttered to himself. “You can’t stand to be in the same room as them, let alone talk to each other.” He blushed. “If it’s a hate born out of opposite points of view, or out of some sort of rivalry, say, it will just keep pushing you to fight harder.” He paused and looked at Jean-Jacques. “Unless I have it wrong?”

Jean-Jacques nodded. “That’s exactly how it is. I hated a single mention of his name. I don’t know why. I suppose if there are people in this world who you love for no reason, then there must be people you hate for no reason.”

Mr. Katsuki nodded

“Anyway, I hope that answers your question.”

“It does and it doesn’t.” Mr. Katsuki stood up and held out his hand. “Thank you. I think you answered all the questions you could. I’ll have to keep digging, of course.” He smiled. “But that’s part of the fun, I suppose.”

They shook hands and Jean-Jacques watched him walk away. Even after all this time he still hated Victor, but, for some reason, he liked Mr. Katsuki. Something about him inspired confidence.

He’d told Mr. Katsuki that he had business for his magazine and was willing to come to New York for a second interview, when, in reality, he wanted to find out why the journalist was so interested in this.

He didn’t doubt that Mr. Katsuki was writing an article about Victor, but his interest in this particular detail was intriguing.

He watched the way Victor and Mr. Katsuki looked at each other and understood.

The barman brought him his drink and he stirred it with a smile. _There’s nothing to be jealous about._

 

Something about the story still didn’t add up. Yuuri thought about this as he walked away from Jean-Jacques. Something was just slightly off.

But as soon as he reached Victor’s table all thoughts about these articles were forgotten. “Thank you for waiting for me,” he said.

Victor smiled. “Do you want to order something to eat?”

“To be honest, I’m really tired right now and not really in the mood for food or a drink.” Yuuri fidgeted. He’d spent three hours here already, waiting for Mr. Leroy to arrive. He stood in front of Victor, reluctant to sit down, wishing to get out as soon as possible. But it wasn’t fair to Victor, not after he’d waited so patiently for him to finish. “I’m sorry. After you waited for me for so long. Can you… Can you walk me home, please?”

“Yes, of course.”

Victor caught a waiter’s eye and handed him his card, not bothering to wait for the bill. Yuuri waited patiently for him to pay for his drink and they walked out together.

It was a warm evening. Yuuri raised his eyes to the sky, wishing he wasn’t in a big city, but in a place where the stars would be visible. Back home – at his parent’s home, that is – there were no sky scrapers to block out the night sky. This walk would’ve been perfect there.

Was he really getting homesick at a time like this?

Victor walked beside him, not saying a word.

_“This young man was waiting for me.”_

Yuuri looked at Victor out of the corner of his eye. He remembered how his heart beat faster in his chest at the note of protectiveness in Victor’s voice. He shouldn’t have felt flattered, but he couldn’t help it, not when Victor’s next words were _“I will be right here.”_

He wanted Victor to say something else. He wished he could draw him out into a conversation, but he was so exhausted himself that, try as he might, he couldn’t think of a single topic.

His head hurt, making it hard to focus on anything for very long.

_I’m almost home and then I can rest._

And then he _was_ home, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He wondered if that was what he really wanted, or if he was too tired to think clearly.

They stopped outside Yuuri’s apartment building. “Thank you,” Yuuri said, looking into Victor’s face.

“What time do you want to meet tomorrow?”

Through the fog in his mind Yuuri remembered all the work he needed to finish the next day. He’d fallen behind in some of things he needed to do and several deadlines were coming up fast. “I can’t tomorrow. Maybe the day after?”

“Alright.” Victor nodded. For a moment it looked like he was about to leave. “I can still call you, though?” he asked.

“Of course.” There was something reflecting in Victor’s eyes and Yuuri stepped forward without thinking to get a better look.

As if waking from a dream, he remembered himself and where he was and stepped away. “Good night,” he said.

Victor stepped towards him. “Good night,” he repeated, but there was no feeling in his words. He’d repeated them without realizing what he was saying.

Yuuri walked to his apartment building.

The door closed behind him and he turned to look at Victor through the glass. He waited for Victor to call his driver to pick him up, but for some reason he didn’t. He merely stood there, his eyes on the door that he closed behind Yuuri.

Yuuri wondered if he should wave and then he remembered that the glass only let you see one way.

He watched Victor raise his eyes, as he if he was trying to guess which of the windows was Yuuri’s.

 _None of them_ , Yuuri thought. _My windows face the opposite way._

Still Victor wasn’t leaving.

Yuuri held his breath and waited to see what he would do next.

Victor reached for his phone and turned away. Something changed in the line of his shoulders and neck. Yuuri watched the editor of _Runway_ call his driver and then get in the car as soon as it came. His eyes followed it until the night swallowed it up.

 

The sun of the late afternoon reflected from the building facing the windows of Yuuri’s apartment and entered Yuuri’s room, painting it gold. It was hot and sticky. The city was lost in a haze and even its sounds seemed distant.

He paced his room. He couldn’t write. He couldn’t work. He couldn’t do anything.

A strong sense of longing and loneliness filled his chest. Never had his apartment felt as empty as it did then.

He sat down and clutched his hands together.

No, he couldn’t stay like this. He pulled out his phone and called.

Too late he remembered what time it was and as his eye fell on the clock in his room he wondered what Victor could be doing right now.

“Victor,” he began, not waiting for Victor to say hello, “I don’t know if you’re free right now or…” he ran out of words quickly and stopped, uncertain of what to say next.

“Yuuri, is something wrong?” Victor asked, the tone of fear in his voice unmistakable. It made him feel guilty.

“I…” he bit down the apology that rose unbidden to his lips. “Can you come here? You remember my address, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

Yuuri hung up and waited. He went down to the ground floor and stood by the door, looking out into the street as all kinds of thoughts filled his head.

Doubt crept in. Why had he called Victor? Was it a good idea? What if Victor was busy doing something else and Yuuri had selfishly interrupted him partway through something important? He could’ve been in a meeting at work when Yuuri had called him up and yet he’d asked Victor to come anyway. He hadn’t even waited for Victor to tell him if he was free or not.

He was about to pull out his phone and tell him he didn’t need to come when he spotted Victor’s car stopping by the side of the street.

Victor stepped out of the car and Yuuri opened the door and rushed out to meet him.

“Are you alright?” Victor asked.

Yuuri nodded.

Victor raised his hand, hesitated and pulled it away.

Yuuri led the way back to his apartment without thinking and Victor followed without a word. They remained silent even when they entered Yuuri’s apartment.

He wasn’t sure what he expected Victor to do to make it better. He walked in and dropped onto his couch. Victor sat down next to him.

A tremble passed over Yuuri’s body. He couldn’t find the strength inside himself to suppress it.

“Are you alright?” Victor asked again. His hand rested gently on his shoulder.

“No,” Yuuri whispered.

Victor’s arms slid over him hesitantly. Yuuri closed his eyes as Victor pulled him into an embrace. His heart trembled at Victor’s touch.

It was a mistake to invite Victor like this. Who knew what he thought Yuuri wanted from him then? Not that it mattered since Yuuri himself had no idea what he wanted. No, that wasn’t true. He _knew_ what he wanted, but he was terrified of what would come after he got it.

It was too frightening to even think about.

“Is everything alright at work?” Victor asked carefully.

No. This was too hard on both of them, Yuuri decided. _I should just tell him to go home. I can deal with this. It will be fine._

He pulled free and rose to his feet. “I’m… better now.” He looked down. “Sorry for… um… calling you out of the blue like this.”

Victor got up, making Yuuri raise his eyes. There was an odd look on his face, but it was only there for a moment. In the next instant it dissolved into a smile. “You don’t need to apologize,” he reassured Yuuri. “If you need to call me again, please don’t hesitate.” He reached out and then pulled his hand away. “And you can…” he paused, “call me anytime you like.”

“Thank you.” He watched Victor leave, unable to follow and unable to ask Victor to stay.

If only he _could_ stay!

He was straying too close to an edge. He could feel it.

_What do I do when I can’t fight these feelings inside me? What do I do when they take over and I do something foolish?_

He dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands.

 

Victor couldn’t sleep. His thoughts alternated between Yuuri’s pained expression and how tiny his apartment was. It probably made sense, though. He wasn’t paid enough to afford a big luxurious apartment. Hadn’t someone told him once that New York was one of the most expensive cities to live in?

And hadn’t he laughed at that remark at the time?

It wasn’t very funny, now that he thought about it. Not funny at all. Not when poor Yuuri had to make do with a cramped apartment and cheap furniture. There was barely any room in it to turn around. How did Yuuri live in a place like that?

He remembered Yuuri pulling away and telling him to go.

When Yuuri had called his first thought was fear: he was terrified that something bad, something irreversible had happened. In the few seconds before Yuuri explained what he wanted his mind had come up with a hundred different disasters that could’ve happened to him.

And then he was flattered. Yuuri had called him for help. Out of all the people in his life – here the image of Mr. Chulanont sprang up before his eyes – Yuuri had called _him_.

He’d panicked. He’d rushed to Yuuri and panicked inside. Could he really help Yuuri? Would he do the right thing or only make things worse?

Yuuri had sounded broken over the phone and he looked broken when Victor saw him.

Victor had never felt like this before.

With a sigh Victor turned over in his bed.  He’d watched Yuuri tremble and retreat within himself, unable to do anything and, what was worse, knowing it was all his own fault.

_I’m sorry, Yuuri. I thought I knew how to be better. I thought I could fix this somehow and make up for what I’ve done, but I see now that I can’t. I never thought I would find something that I can’t do, but here it is._

Late at night is a terrible time: the mind is half asleep and the little bit that makes logical decisions isn’t awake at all.

He got up and paced the room as wild ideas came to his mind.

Would it be better to let Yuuri go? He froze on the spot the moment the thought occurred to him.

 _No,_ he told himself. _No. Anything but that. I can’t do that again._

He returned to his pile of books, picked up the top one and read it.

It didn’t matter what it said. He read it from beginning to end, not content with just skimming through the pages this time.

 

The sun rose outside and a pale light filled the room.

Victor put his book down and left the room. He dressed with a newly found energy, stopping from time to time to study his reflection in the mirror and make little adjustments to his clothes.

He hesitated as he folded his handkerchief and then returned it to its usual place.

No. Not today.

He got his phone instead and called.

 _Yuuri, will you have breakfast with me today?_ Were the words he’d planned to say with a smile and in a happy tone of voice. He wished he could think of a way to tell Yuuri what he’d felt and the decision he’d made.

“Victor?” He didn’t need to ask if Yuuri felt better after yesterday: he could hear the answer in his voice.

There was a common theme in the books he’d read, but while it sounded great in theory in the real world it just fell apart.

Talk it out.

_How? How do I talk about something like this? If I sat down with a piece of paper and a pen I wouldn’t be able to find the right words in a million years!_

“Will you spend the morning with me?” Victor asked. His eye fell on a catalogue that lay on the table.

He’d sent the new second assistant to find a new vase for him, but two weeks had gone by and still he couldn’t find it, despite Victor’s clear instructions (“the tall one in this furniture catalogue”).

Would Yuuri be interested in coming with him?

Thirty minutes later he stood outside Yuuri’s apartment, waiting by the car and still a little bit surprised Yuuri had said yes.

An hour later they were done with breakfast and Victor rose from their table, stopping in front of Yuuri with his hand held out.

Yuuri looked at it and then up at Victor. And just as Victor wondered how he could take his hand away discretely Yuuri reached out and placed his own over Victor’s before getting up to his feet.

“Th-the place is just down the street,” Victor said, stuttering over his words as Yuuri’s face was suddenly much closer than he was ready for.

There was the clear and honest look on Yuuri’s face and then his gaze dropped to Victor’s breast pocket and he made the first comment about Victor’s outfit Victor had ever heard.

“You have a different handkerchief today.”

Yuuri’s hand was still in his. It was so warm.

“I do,” he said quietly and realized that he’d completely forgotten what he was going to say after that.

 

Yuuri kept throwing glances at Victor when he thought he wasn’t looking. They were in the store to find Victor a vase. He’d told Yuuri that he wanted Yuuri to pick something out for him, but Yuuri couldn’t look at any of them.

His eyes were on Victor instead.

 _Focus,_ he told himself. _Victor asked me to help pick something, so I need to at least pretend that I’m looking at them._

They were still holding hands. After Yuuri put his hand in Victor’s he couldn’t make himself pull away and let go and Victor had held on.

Yuuri’s eye fell on an odd glass object that couldn’t possibly be a vase, not one for any flowers he’d ever seen. It was odd, like a giant squiggle and it brought a smile to his face.

They were at the very back of the store. The realization hit Yuuri and he turned to look at Victor.

Victor’s eyes were on a different glass object. “It’s the first one,” he said and Yuuri wondered what he was saying.

“The first one I ever designed. I’d only just become editor back then. It was meant to symbolize a positive change, and be a sign of good things to come.”

And then Yuuri realized what Victor was talking about. He should’ve realized it earlier, should’ve remembered from his research. But his thoughts had been somewhere else entirely.

“I guess you could call it a good luck charm,” he said. “And I want you to have it.” He pulled the handkerchief out of his breast pocket and handed it to Yuuri.

Yuuri stared at it, suddenly uncertain of what he should do.

“Take it,” Victor said quietly. “I want it to bring you good luck.”

 _This is starting to sound like a goodbye,_ Yuuri thought as his hand closed over Victor’s.

They stood in the back of a store, holding each other by both hands.

Words trembled on Yuuri’s lips, ready for him to say them. _Please don’t leave me._

“I want it to bring us good luck,” Victor whispered, freeing his hands and wrapping his arms around Yuuri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing as my Burlesque AU (Comes Love) is done, and my other fic (Bad Apple) is nearing the end as well, I decided to organize a little vote to decide which fic I should write next (because I can’t decide on my own). You can read the post [ here](http://witharthurkirkland.tumblr.com/post/167287543573/vote-for-the-next-fic) to see what the choices are and then you can vote anonymously [ here](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdgSo3QzSDVK--OpDQ78yuE8E3BDi9p4AeV9y1nhYZYWUIQAQ/viewform?c=0&w=1). Voting ends November 25th, 2017.


	8. Challenges

Why did it matter where the rivalry started? Why couldn’t Yuuri just let it go? It was all in the past now and he could work hard to make sure it stayed that way.

But it was such a big part of Victor’s life that he wanted to know. Maybe he wouldn’t find anything. Maybe he would find something that couldn’t be published in an article about Victor’s achievements, but he needed to know.

That a small newspaper would publish something claiming that Mr. Leroy and Victor were lovers still seemed a little bit odd to him. Maybe back then they didn’t know that Victor had enough influence to shut the newspaper down and that was why they thought they could get away with it, but Yuuri wasn’t convinced.

Anyone else would’ve let it go at this point, but Yuuri had a gut feeling that kept pushing him. It was nothing more than that. There hadn’t been some special word someone had said, or something that was really odd. No, the story lined up and wasn’t really suspicious. But a little voice in the back of his head told him there was more. And he’d learned in the past few weeks to trust that little voice.

The rivalry had poisoned so many lives. It had nearly destroyed his and he knew that Phichit hadn’t had an easy time because of it. Victor must’ve felt the effect of it too, even if he’d let it sweep him away without a second thought. And these articles that someone had published only added fuel to the fire.

He paced his room, listening to the recording of Mr. Leroy’s voice. Mr. Leroy had gone on to start his own fashion magazine in Canada and Yuuri wondered if that decision had anything to do with the rivalry as well.

He dismissed this thought. It had nothing to do with him. Even if Mr. Leroy _had_ been on that list of Victor’s past lovers it had nothing to do with him.

There was only one thing left to do now. He stopped the recording and sat down at his desk. He had to find one of the authors behind those articles.

 

“How is that article coming along?”

Yuuri looked up from his desk and into his boss’s face. “Good,” he said with a smile, as if it wasn’t something he worried about every waking moment of every day. “There’s just one detail left to clarify and then I will be finished with it.”

“Good.” The editor was leaning over him, one hand resting on Yuuri’s desk. “I should probably warn you,” he said in a quiet tone of voice, “that I will be reviewing it very carefully.”

Yuuri straightened in his seat. “I always double-check all of my facts.”

“I know.” The editor’s eyes were fixed on something and Yuuri felt the blood rush to his face as he realized what it was.

He was wearing Victor’s handkerchief. Not the new one, or the one before that, but the very first one that Victor had designed. The good luck charm.

He lowered his eyes. “I… uh… I may have…” he swallowed, “a conflict of interest.”

The editor chuckled. “I know. I knew that from the start, remember?”

Yuuri nodded. There was always something about the editor that made you want to confess everything to him. Maybe that was what had made him a legendary journalist in his time. And now he was pulling words out of Yuuri that maybe he wouldn’t have said to someone else.

“But I want to know what Yuuri Katsuki would write about Victor Nikiforov,” he leaned closer and lowered his voice, “even if I decide that it’s not something worth publishing.”

Yuuri looked at him. The editor’s other quality was that he made so many jokes that it was often hard to tell what was really on his mind and even now there was that grin that was so hard to read.

He’d given Yuuri several other people to write articles about, but those were all easy and straightforward. Those articles were already all on his desk. There was just this article left.

 _Maybe I shouldn’t write it,_ Yuuri thought _. He’s teasing me, but maybe he’s right. What if I end up writing something not worth publishing?_

He thought back to what little he’d already written about Victor. Was it obvious that the person who wrote it was in love with the person they were writing about?

He raised his eyes and met those of the editor. “I want a few more days to finish this. I want to get this article right and if it’s not worth publishing, then you can always discard it later.”

The editor smiled, a twinkle in his eyes. “You have that need to know, Yuuri, that I really admire. It reminds me of myself when I was younger.”

Yuuri felt the blood rush to his face. It was a relief that his boss had caught him at a time when there was no one else around him. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have this conversation with other people around to hear it.

“Come into my office,” he said, as if reading Yuuri’s thoughts.

Yuuri followed him obediently across the hall and into the editor’s office, closing the door behind them.

“I admit,” the editor said, taking his spot behind the desk, “that I’m really interested in watching you handle this. Sometimes we have to write about things we’d rather avoid. I thought this would be a good preparation for you.”

Yuuri bit his lip. His editor still thought of him as someone who needed guidance and preparation. He still didn’t trust him with a serious assignment!

“I’ll have the article ready tomorrow,” he promised.

“There’s no need to rush,” the editor countered. “Not when you hear what I want you to write about once you’re done.” He looked at Yuuri and then at the empty chair in front of him. “You might want to sit down for this one.”

Yuuri moved to sit, but changed his mind. “That’s alright. I spent the day sitting.”

“You’re a talented journalist,” the editor began. “I knew as soon as I first saw a sample of your writing that you were. You’re good at writing. The assignments I’ve given you so far have been proof of that. You have your own voice and you know how to make almost any subject sound interesting. So I want to try you in an uncomfortable area.”

Yuuri swallowed.

“There comes a time in every journalist’s life when they’ll have to deal with a morally grey area, where there is no right or wrong, but they’ll have to make a conclusion and write about it. Even if it means going against their principles, or what they were brought up to believe. But I think I’ll start with something easier: a subject you don’t want to write about.”

He was barely breathing now.

The editor pulled out the latest issue of _The New Yorker_ and pointed to the image on the cover. “Him.” His eyes focused on Yuuri, trying to see his reaction.

Yuuri had, in the few times when politics came up in the office, expressed his opinion quite strongly on the subject. He thought he’d read enough to say with confidence that the person the editor was pointing at was about as evil as it was possible for a human being to get.

“Yes, that _does_ mean interviewing him face to face, which won’t be easy with the – ah – liberal views our magazine always stood for.”

Yuuri stared down at the cover, feeling the shiver go down his spine. “I’ll do it,” he said.

“I don’t mean write his life story. God knows, there are tons of articles and books on the subject. I also don’t plan to include him – perish the thought! – in our list of 100 of the most influential people of the last quarter of a century, even if someone might want to argue that he deserves to be on the list. No, I’d rather die than say he should be on the list.” The editor smiled and reclined in his chair, playing with a pen in his hand. “So your job, Yuuri, is to find out why he _should_ be on the list.”

He was shuddering now. “You want me to write a flattering article about _him_?”

“I want you to convince me that he should be on the list.” He must’ve seen the expression on Yuuri’s face because after a brief pause he added, “or shouldn’t, if you find enough proof for it.”

Yuuri was silent. His mind raced, trying to come up with something for him to say. “I won’t let you down,” he said at last.

“Good,” the editor said with a nod. Then he rose to his feet. “Will you join me for lunch today?”

Yuuri thought of two other editors, one of which he’d promised to meet for lunch and the other who, as he was realizing more with every day, he would rather have lunch with.

And not just lunch.

“I’m sorry, I promised to meet a friend for lunch,” he said, opening the door.

“Would this friend be the editor of _Runway_?”

Yuuri turned around to face his boss with a smile. “No. This is a different editor.” He left before his boss could ask anything else.

 

Victor watched Yuuri’s face as the boy walked next to him. His eyes were lowered. Something was weighing heavily on his mind. They were out on another walk with Makkachin. It was a very warm day and they tried to keep to the shade the whole time.

“Is something wrong?” he asked and watched Yuuri raise his eyes with the expression of someone caught in a crime.

“Ah! No, not at all!” _Yes, it is._

He considered his next words carefully. “Is there something I can do to help?” He reached out with his hand, but stopped an inch away, not quite touching him.

“No.”

He’d hoped for a different answer, but the short word felt like a door closed in his face.

A cyclist appeared out of nowhere and Victor caught Yuuri by the elbow, pulling him out of the way.

“Thank you,” Yuuri said.

He was suddenly very aware of how close they were in that moment.

“I want to do something for you,” Victor whispered.

“You don’t have to.”

“You won’t let me?” Victor asked.

Yuuri pulled him into an embrace. “I didn’t say that.”

Victor held on, unable to let go. He raised his head and saw an elderly couple on the other side of the street.

The woman wrapped a warm shawl around the man and gave him a fond smile. Then she looked across the street at Victor and beamed at him too.

He smiled back.

Makkachin put his paws against him, demanding to be in the hug as well and Victor looked down at his dog. He wished he could reach down and scratch under Makkachin’s head, but still he held on to Yuuri, not daring to release him.

“You said you wanted a dog, Yuuri,” he began as an idea occurred to him.

Yuuri pulled away and looked into his face. “Yes?”

“Let me buy you one,” Victor offered.

 

It was a small building that was starting to fall apart on one side and was in desperate need of a new coat of paint. Yuuri hesitated on the steps, unable to believe that he’d come to the right place. He checked the address on his phone again and went in, preparing himself for the worst.

A woman sat at a desk in a room full of dust. She looked like someone who hadn’t been outside in years. She raised her eyes and gave Yuuri a curious look.

Yuuri’s eye glossed over the old computer on her desk, the stacks of paper and the cup full of old chewed pens. It stopped on the woman.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

He was suddenly all too aware of his new and expensive clothes. There was a stitch on her sleeve and a patch of material on the front the colour of which didn’t quite match the rest of the fabric.

“I’m here for an interview.”

Her expression went from curious to incredulous.

He resisted the urge to adjust his shirt and nodded instead. “I need to speak with the editor. It’s about an old article he published.” He felt so stupid now. Would the man remember an article he published several years ago?

She remained silent, as if she didn’t believe him.

“I’m from _The New Yorker_ ,” he added when it became obvious that she wasn’t going to help him in any way. He hated using the name of his magazine as a way of getting people to do things, but there was just no other way this time.

She looked like she believed that even less.

He stuck his hand in his inside pocket and pulled out his card. He placed it on the table before her and braced himself for the inevitable reference to Victor.

She looked at it, then rose to her feet and went to her boss’s office without saying a single word, not even a “please wait for me”.

Yuuri waited patiently.

When she came out she motioned at the office to show that he could go in, which Yuuri did without a moment of hesitation.

The editor’s office was as full of dust as the outside had been.

There hadn’t been any other offices and Yuuri couldn’t resist the mental joke that maybe the editor wrote all of the articles himself.

 _Herself_ , he mentally corrected himself as soon as he entered the room.

She was a tall woman, impossibly so, with her head nearly reaching the ceiling of the room. For the first time in his life he felt like a midget. He’d met people who were taller than him before, but never by this much.

She invited him to sit and sat down herself, her eye studying him closely. “And what can I do for you, Yuuri Katsuki from _The New Yorker_?”

He placed the article that had brought him here on her desk. “You published this article a couple of years ago and I wanted to know –”

The expression on her face changed right away. Where there had been just a hint of curiosity mixed with a polite smile now was a scowl so fierce he was frightened.

“Oh _that_! What more do you want? We published a retraction, didn’t we? I fired him. What do you care about it now? Look at us! Look at what you did!” she almost spat as she shouted, jumping up to her feet and startling him.

“I-I’m sorry,” Yuuri stuttered, cleared his throat and went on in a steadier voice. “I didn’t come here to complain about the article. I just wanted to speak with the person who wrote it.”

“And how the hell should I know where he is now?” she demanded.

“I apologize for wasting your time,” he said and rose to his feet.

“Wait,” she said and looked at him. “Look, I’m sorry for losing my temper, alright?” She took a deep breath and went on. “After _that man_ did what he’d done we… well, you can see how it is.” She waved her hand to take in her office.

Yuuri dropped back into his seat. “Why did you publish it?”

“I didn’t know, did I?” She patted her pockets and pulled out a cigarette. “You smoke at all?”

He shook his head.

“Do you mind if I do?” she asked.

He was going to say that yes, he did, but she was shaking so much that he shook his head instead and then tried his hardest to breathe as little as possible.

She lit her cigarette and returned the lighter to her inside pocket. “When Stan came into my room with the article…” she laughed, “I remember it like it was yesterday. Anyway, I didn’t think much of it. An article about the editors of two fashion magazines maybe having an affair?” she shrugged. “We deal with that kind of gossip all the time. So I published it. Stan told me there would be another one in a week. “Great,” I said.” She exhaled smoke and Yuuri held his breath. “The day it comes out a young man shows up and demands we publish a retraction. And then another young man ran in and demanded the same thing.” She laughed. “I had them thrown out, of course. We don’t bother with that sort of crap.”

She went silent for a while and stared off into space thoughtfully.

Seconds ticked by on the clock on the wall and Yuuri wondered if she’d fallen asleep with her eyes open. He shifted slightly in his seat and opened his mouth to speak.

“Didn’t know what hit me…” she whispered and the terror in her voice made shivers go down his spine. “Next thing I knew Stan was fired, half my staff was gone and we were almost shut down.” She put her hand on her forehead. “And all because of one article! A silly little thing that most people wouldn’t care about.”

 _Of course they wouldn’t, not unless they were convinced that this was some sort of move their enemy was making,_ Yuuri thought. _Most people would ignore something stupid like that. It was like caring about what they wrote in the gossip columns. This is what they did._

He could imagine Mr. Leroy and Victor sitting in their offices and making the phone calls necessary to shut this little newspaper down.

And then he remembered hearing somewhere that Victor had always had more influence than Mr. Leroy and wished he could forget that fact.

“So…” he began carefully, “where is… Stan now?”

“Who knows?” she asked with a shrug. “Kansas? Texas? Your guess is as good as mine.”

There was nothing more to do but to get up, thank her for her time and leave.

He paused in the doorway to throw a look back at her.

She couldn’t have been much older than thirty, but her hair was starting to go grey. There were bags under her eyes and lines on her forehead. She sat with a resigned hunch in her shoulders, but when she’d gotten angry there had been so much emotion in her eyes that he was afraid she would strike him.

He walked out of the building lost in thought.

He could leave it there, take this taxi back to his usual life, forget everything and go on with Victor as before, feeling little pangs of guilt at his situation and wondering how ruthless a person had to be to throw an entire publication into such a state without a second thought.

Or he could dig a little deeper.

 

Two days later he had the address of Stan, as well as his full name. He’d wound up in the middle of nowhere, his career in tatters, and was almost always drunk out of his wits.

Yuuri managed to catch him in one of his rare sober interludes.

Where had the idea for the article come from?

Someone had come to him with this story, claiming they had solid proof.

Someone? Who?

A young woman.

What was her name?

She never said.

Yuuri left, feeling exasperated. He didn’t say anything to the journalist who’d written an article based on the promise of proof from a nameless stranger. He didn’t tell him what he thought of people who did what he’d done.

He went through more or less the exact same routine with the other three newspapers who’d published similar articles. And only in the last place did he manage to stumble into a journalist who’d been more skeptical than the rest and managed to pull some information out of his informant.

“Yes, of course, I know,” he said with a triumphant smile. “Didn’t want to tell me, now did she? But I got it out of her in the end.”

“Yes?” Yuuri asked.

“It will cost you,” the man said, proving, once again, that he was no fool.

They haggled for the price and finally settled on fifty dollars.

Yuuri handed him the bill as the man answered his question.

It took all of his self-control to not react to the words he said. As he went back home, his mind went over all of his memories of his time at _Runway_ , throwing a new light on one particular event.

 

They met at a café. It wasn’t an accidental meeting by any means and they’d even made sure to meet somewhere they wouldn’t be seen. And so they picked an out of the way place that no one ever frequented.

It had started with a phone call.

“Hello? I want to speak with you,” one of them said.

“Oh really? What about?”

“I’d rather not talk about it like this. I prefer to talk face to face,” the first one insisted.

The second one chuckled. “Yeah, sure. Why not? Where do you want to meet?” And then the second one laughed. “You _do_ realize that if we’re seen together people might get the wrong idea, right?”

“You’re making it sound like this is a crime.”

The second man considered his next words before speaking again. “I think a few months ago several people would’ve considered it a crime, yes. At the very least it would’ve ruined my career and my life.”

“Then it’s a good thing that I’m calling you now, isn’t it?”

“Alright, alright. I’m just saying that we should meet somewhere I won’t run into people I know.”

“Agreed. Luckily, I know the perfect place.”

And so they got together. They sat down at the table and eyed each other, as if making a study of the other person’s clothes, while, in reality, trying to anticipate how the conversation would go, and what they could say, and what response they would get.

The first person sighed heavily. “I came to talk to you about Yuuri.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’m worried about him,” the first person said. “I’m afraid that he’s in over his head.” He looked at the second person and wondered if they understood what he’d meant.

“And why do you think that?” the second person asked. “Or, rather, why are you telling _me_ this?”

“You’re his friend, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am.”

“And how is Victor Nikiforov these days?” the first person asked.

The second person wondered if this question was some kind of hint. “Happy. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him this happy.”

The first person snorted. He opened his mouth to say something when the waiter arrived to take their order.

They took turns ordering a drink and watched the waiter walk away before continuing.

“And why do you think he’s so happy?” the first person asked, staring down at the menu, as if he was actually studying all of the available options.

“Rumour is: he’s in love. There are a lot of theories as to who it is, of course, but that’s just the way things are at _Runway_.”

The first person raised his eyes. “And who do you think it is?”

The second person shrugged. “Why does it have anything to do with me?”

“Come now,” the first person closed the menu. “Don’t play games with me.”

“I don’t know,” the second person admitted after a pause. “I don’t know what to think. I thought I understood what was going on at _Runway_ and then Yuuri came along and turned everything inside out. Now I don’t understand what’s going on anymore.” He laughed. “But I guess that’s what makes life more fun, isn’t it?”

The first person agreed carefully, “Up to a point. I’m worried about Yuuri,” he said again.

“Why?”

“Because he’s seeing Victor again.”

The second person frowned. “Really? How did this happen?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” the second person insisted.

The first person reclined in his seat and told the second one what he knew. The second person listened without interrupting. The first person had to stop once when the waiter arrived with their drinks and took their orders for food.

They watched him go before the first person resumed his story.

“I see,” the second person said when the first person finished. “And you think it’s… bad?” he suggested.

“I don’t know what to think. It could be bad. It could be really bad.”

The second person sipped his drink. “And what do you want from me?” he asked, placing his cup on the table.

“Information,” the first person responded. “I want you to keep an eye on Victor for me.”

“Why?”

“Just in case,” the first person said with a shrug. “Look, I don’t know what might happen. It might be fine, but I don’t want to take that risk. If I can do something, then I will.”

“I don’t believe you,” the second person said.

The first person gave an exasperated sigh. “Well, I don’t believe him. It’s too strange, alright? I don’t believe all of this that’s going on between him and Yuuri. I don’t believe that he changed so much. I don’t believe that Yuuri should just trust him blindly and go on as if nothing had happened.”

“People change,” the second person suggested. “Maybe he… Maybe he’s really in love with Yuuri and so he wants to change to make him happy, because he knows this is the only way they can be together.”

“Do you believe that?”

The second person gave the first one an odd look. “I want to,” he said after a short pause.

“Alright, but will you… try to keep an eye on things on your end?” the first person asked.

“What do you expect me to do? Tell you what Victor does in his spare time?” the second person asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“No, just… if he ever starts acting … I don’t know, _odd_ , I guess, maybe you can warn me?” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I nearly lost Yuuri once, I don’t want to lose him completely this time.”

The second person remained silent.

“You still don’t believe me,” the first person said. “Why not?”

“I don’t know. It’s just so odd. Like I said, things have changed. They’re not like they used to be several months ago. Several months ago, if you’d called me, I would’ve laughed and hung up the phone. I wouldn’t have come all the way out here.” He tapped his fingers on the table lightly. “But even now I wonder why the editor of _Fantastic Man_ would call one of the art directors of _Runway_ and ask him for a meeting like this and then ask for information about Victor.”

Phichit smiled. “Yuuri is my best friend.”

“And Victor is mine,” Chris countered. “It’s just your luck that Yuuri is my friend too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you voted for which fic you wanted me to write, I'm hoping to make a post on Tumblr about which one won soon and then post chapter 1 here in the near future. Thanks again for voting!


	9. Victor

Everything was noise and chaos and Victor regretted coming here as soon as he stepped in. Animals screamed, children cried. It was a real zoo. It was a pet store.

Yuuri had accepted the offer of a dog without argument and the first chance he got Victor took Yuuri to a pet store. This pet store. Unfortunately.

Dogs and cats roamed freely down aisles of pet food, and pet toys, and anything else a pet could ever need in their life.

Yuuri stopped, taking in the store, as if unable to decide which way to go next.

Victor opened his mouth to make a suggestion when a puppy bounded up to Yuuri and demanded his attention. He jumped up and down, barking and wagging his tail excitedly.

“Aww!” Yuuri exclaimed. “You’re so cute!” He scooped the puppy up into his arms and smiled.

Victor felt his insides melt at the sight of that smile.

The puppy in Yuuri’s hands looked like Makkachin and, like Makkachin, he’d picked his owner himself.

Yuuri laughed as the puppy licked his face. Victor stepped closer, Yuuri’s joy drawing him in. He reached out for the puppy, wishing to get some of that attention himself.

The dog stopped licking Yuuri’s face to turn around and growl at Victor.

“I don’t think he likes you,” Yuuri said and got his face licked in response.

Victor didn’t know what to say to that and just settled for watching them.

“I’ll take him,” Yuuri said after another minute of laughter.

He tried reaching for the dog again, but got another growl in response. To his surprise, he realized he wasn’t angry with the dog, not when Yuuri was laughing so happily. And he was perfectly happy himself to buy it for Yuuri, along with everything else Yuuri would need.

“Thank you,” Yuuri said as they got into Victor’s car to take them to Yuuri’s apartment. “I guess all I need now is a name.” He laughed as the dog licked his face again.

“I’ll leave that up to you,” Victor said, “unless you want me to name him?” he let the question hang in the air, not expecting any kind of response.

Yuuri reached out and took his hand with a smile.

Victor held his breath, waiting for Yuuri’s response. But Yuuri remained silent.

They kept their eyes on each other until they reached Yuuri’s apartment and then Victor got the chance to walk Yuuri to the door of the building. There was that smile again and Victor caught Yuuri’s hand without thinking.

“I’ll… see you tomorrow.”

Yuuri nodded. “Tomorrow.”

But tomorrow was so far away. Victor agonized as he waited for it to come. It was Sunday and he’d meant to do some work at home, but he couldn’t do anything. He tried reading, tried to watch something, but it was no use.

Two hours of suffering later he called Yuuri.

“Hello, Victor!”

He came up with a silly excuse and asked Yuuri questions about his day. He made small talk. He pretended that he wanted to know when the article about him would be done. And he listened to Yuuri talk.

Yuuri had a wonderful voice that would’ve let him get away with any stupid thing he decided to say. But he was Yuuri and so every word he said was intelligent and not stupid at all.

The as-yet-unnamed puppy barked and demanded attention on the other side of the line and Victor had to share Yuuri’s attention with him.

And then the dreaded end of their conversation came. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Yuuri said.

 _No, don’t go! I need… I need you here by my side._ “Yes, tomorrow.” He hung up and gave a heavy sigh.

 

There was still more digging to do. There were still more questions on Yuuri’s mind, but none of them were for the article. And so, like always, he delivered a physical copy to his boss’s desk. His hands trembled as he left it there, turned and walked back to his desk.

Around him the office was buzzing with activity. A big event was coming up that needed good press coverage and some of his colleagues were actively preparing for it. He walked past them, ignoring their excited debate about the dress code.

Two things weighed heavily on his mind. He promised himself to address both of them soon. He wasn’t going to carry them around forever.

He stayed late that day, buried in research for his new assignment. Everyone had gone home and even the cleaning staff had finished going through their floor.

“Poetry.” The sound of his boss’s voice made him raise his head. “This is poetry,” he said and put the article down on Yuuri’s desk.

Yuuri reached out for it. “I… uh… I can rewrite it…” he began, feeling the blood rush to his face.

“Why? This is exactly what I wanted.” The boss laughed and Yuuri’s face spread in a smile. “Now go home. Don’t you have someone waiting for you there?”

Yuuri remembered his dog and felt guilty. “Yes.” He gathered his things and ran home, uttering a quick good-bye to his boss.

It was a different sensation coming home that evening than before. To be greeted by someone who really missed you and was really glad to see you there was a new feeling for Yuuri.

The puppy jumped up and down, squealing with delight, wagging his tail and moving too fast for Yuuri to catch him.

Yuuri laughed as he finally succeeded in picking the puppy up. “And I’m really glad to see you too! Sorry I took so long. Now what should I call you?”

As he made himself dinner, he wondered about a name for his dog. For some reason, apart from Spot, he couldn’t think of a single dog name and went over human names instead, trying them all out aloud to see what response they would get.

“What about Mark? How do you feel about Mark?”

The dog barked, but with an angry note in his voice.

“Hmm…”

He spent the evening saying different names aloud, trying to call the dog over, but he merely sat there, head cocked to one side and watched Yuuri curiously.

Yuuri’s phone rang. “Hello, Victor!”

The puppy bounded up to him and jumped onto his lap.

“You really _are_ jealous, aren’t you?” Yuuri laughed. “Sorry…um,” he blushed, remembering that Victor could hear him. “I think my dog is jealous. _Are_ you jealous?” he asked the dog jokingly.

The dog barked and wagged his tail.

“Is something wrong, Victor?”

He listened to Victor tell him that he was only calling to ask how the dog was doing and smiled at the way his puppy kept trying to get his attention throughout their conversation.

And then he noticed a pattern to what the dog was doing. Was he really…?

But he had something else to sort out first and, since Victor had called so conveniently, this was his chance.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Victor,” he said and watched the way the dog looked at him. “But I’d rather not do it over the phone.”

“We can meet right now, if you’re not too tired,” Victor offered.

Yuuri considered this. “Okay,” he agreed. He’d put off telling Victor for too long now. He didn’t even bring it up that morning when they’d met up for breakfast.

“I’ll come see you, then,” Victor said and hung up.

Yuuri looked at his dog. “Victor, hmm?”

He jumped up and barked excitedly.

“But that name is already taken.”

The puppy looked at Yuuri in that way that only puppies can and he laughed. “But only if you don’t hurt the other Victor, alright?”

 

Victor didn’t know what to expect. Yuuri’s voice didn’t sound happy when he said that he needed to tell Victor something, so it couldn’t have been good news.

What could Yuuri want to tell him that wasn’t good news and had to be said in person?

His blood ran cold as one possible answer to that question occurred to him.

Victor would always remember that evening, the way his chest tightened with fear and how he could almost taste the dread rising inside his throat. He’d always remember how he lingered at Yuuri’s door, unable to make himself knock and end everything. He went over each of their almost-dates in his mind. The first time around Yuuri had barged boldly into his life, but now he didn’t even flirt. They’d kept their distance the whole time, Victor unable to figure out how best to approach Yuuri and Yuuri…

Why did Yuuri keep his distance? No, that was the wrong question. After all, he knew the answer to it already.

Why did Yuuri _still_ keep his distance? Did he decide to end it there?

Bracing himself for the worst, he knocked.

Yuuri opened the door and smiled. His puppy was jumping up and barking angrily at Victor.

“Victor! Down!” Yuuri exclaimed and then turned bright red. “I… uh… he only responded to your name.”

He was suddenly aware of the fact that he was blushing as well.

The dog sat down obediently, wagging his tail and giving Yuuri a big-eyed look.

Victor stepped inside. The dog turned around and barked again. He was really starting to irritate him. He walked past him, ignoring all the angry yelps.

Yuuri closed the door and led Victor to the couch. “Do you want anything?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.”

They sat down next to each other. Yuuri was wonderfully close and Victor felt the fear release his heart. “What did you want to tell me?” he asked.

Yuuri hesitated before reaching out and taking one of Victor’s hands in both of his.

Victor stared at him in surprise. Was it really going to be that kind of conversation after all?

“I interviewed several people for that article about you,” Yuuri began, “and I… I found something unpleasant.”

He thought back over his life. What had he done that was really terrible? Did Yuuri find out something that upset him and meant that he wouldn’t want to see Victor anymore?

“There’s… a person…” Yuuri went on.

What person? Was this about one of his old lovers?

“A person who’s been messing with your life. I don’t know what you did to make them go after you, but they’ve done you a lot of harm. Even…” he paused, “…even to the point of making your rivalry with _Fantastic Man_ worse than it is.”

Victor listened, unable to understand. This was so far removed from what he’d expected to hear that it took a while for the meaning of the words to sink in. “Who is it?” he asked at last.

“They work for _Runway_. I’m pretty sure they’re still there, but I couldn’t go and confront her because…” he hesitated again, “…well, because she knows me.”

“Who is it?” Victor asked again, his voice cold. He was trying to understand what Yuuri meant by the admission that his enemy knew Yuuri. Did she have some kind of hold over him?

“Do you remember that day when,” Yuuri blushed deeply, “I was… I was looking for Emil and I stumbled into you with a model and then I…” he cleared his throat, searched around for a few words and then gave up and concluded with, “well… that day?”

Victor nodded. He remembered that day all too well. The way he’d questioned Yuuri about the chaos at _Runway_ , getting suspicious of the boy’s nervousness, how Yuuri had kissed him and how he’d insisted afterwards that he hated him. Without thinking about it, he raised a hand to his mouth.

Yuuri looked away. “It was that model.”

“What?” Victor’s mind had been too full of the memory of that kiss to understand what Yuuri was telling him.

“She went to several papers and told them that she had proof that you were dating Mr. Leroy. She spread rumours about the both of you to push the rivalry further. She probably did more than that, but I couldn’t find anything else.” He thought about this. “For all I know she could still be trying to harm you in some way.” He looked into Victor’s face.

“I’ll look into it,” he whispered, not knowing what else he could possibly say. Tomorrow he would think about this. Tomorrow, when he wouldn’t have Yuuri’s beautiful eyes right in front of him. Tomorrow when it would really matter.

Yuuri bent over Victor’s hand and kissed his knuckles, as if to soften the blow of his words. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” he whispered.

Victor held his breath. _If I get a kiss for each piece of bad news you give me, I think I’ll be able to take anything._

Yuuri’s dog was still barking like mad, but neither of them paid him any attention.

“It’s late,” Yuuri whispered after a while. “You need to go home.”

_I don’t. Let me stay here. Let me sleep on this couch._

But Yuuri wanted him to go and so he had to leave. He rose to his feet and made for the door. Still the dog barked. He thought of Makkachin.

“Do you have any treats?” he asked, watching the dog go wild with fury.

“Oh, yes!” Yuuri left the room to get some and returned with a bag. He took one out and handed it to Victor.

He crouched down in front of the dog and held it out on the palm of his hand. Victor snatched it out of his hand and he risked petting him while he chewed.

The puppy was calmer now and let Victor touch him this time. He finished the first treat and licked Victor’s hand, as if asking for another one.

“Well, that won you over quickly,” Victor said with a laugh.

Yuuri handed him another treat. “What will you do about that model?”

Victor kept his eyes on the dog, petting him affectionately as he fed him the second treat. “I’ll fire her, of course.”

“But what if there’s something she knows about you? Something she could blackmail you with? Who knows _why_ she’s doing this? Maybe you should talk to her and find out what she wants?”

“Why?” He knew what she wanted. It was the same thing everyone else wanted from him. “Why talk to her? If she’s everything you say she is, I just need to get her out of _Runway_ and she’ll stop bothering me.” He looked up into Yuuri’s face. “Just leave her alone. She’s probably after attention.” _They all are._

And then a thought occurred to him. “What’s her name?”

“Chihoko.”

No, the name didn’t ring any bells, but, then again, he always had a poor memory for names. “Do you have a picture of her?”

Yuuri shook his head. “Don’t you remember what she looks like?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “I don’t hire models for _Runway_ and I only pay attention to their looks when I need to decide who is best suited to wear which piece.” He got up. “I’ll sort it out.”

Yuuri nodded. “Good luck.”

He paused in the doorway at the sound of those words. It had been a long time since he’d heard someone say them to him. “Thank you.”

He left, feeling his heart beat heavily against his ribs.

Only when he returned to the car did he remember the fears he’d had before seeing Yuuri. He’d worried for nothing. Yuuri still wanted to see him! He wasn’t sending him away! That thought kept him company all the way home.

Maybe what he was doing wasn’t completely wrong after all.

He stayed awake that night, thinking about Yuuri and what more he could do. He brushed the business with the model aside to think about later.

 

The new issue of _The New Yorker_ sat on Victor’s desk. He stared down at it, as if afraid it would explode.  Ever since he found out that Yuuri wrote for it he ordered his assistants to get him a copy of every new issue as soon as it came out. This one came with an artist’s illustration of 100 famous people. _One Hundred Influences of the Last 25 Years_ read the headline.

Here it was at last.

He took a deep breath and flipped to Yuuri’s article where he found a photo of himself.

 

_These days it is difficult to imagine someone with more influence in the world of fashion than Victor Nikiforov. It’s an influence that isn’t just limited to fashion; it reaches beyond that. Fashion may appear to some to be something not worth our attention, but when it dictates what is sold in our stores, when you walk down the street and stumble into a group of people all dressed a certain way, you start to ask yourself what is the purpose of fashion and is it really as significant as it seems or do people attach too much importance to it?_

_We look up to the most fashionable people. We imitate them, sometimes without even realizing it. And, thus, we find ourselves copying their interests and their opinions._

 

Victor read through the article once and then went back and read it again. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was reading about a stranger named Victor Nikiforov he’d never met and that he was shown gently by Yuuri what sort of person he was.

His phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Hello, Yuuri!”

“What did you think?” Yuuri asked.

“I love it,” Victor whispered despite himself and then regretted his words.

“I’m so glad!” Yuuri said. “I was worried you wouldn’t…” he trailed off.

Victor looked down at the article again. _You’re too nice to me,_ he suddenly thought. _If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were just trying to flatter me. But then, why would you want to flatter me? I know now that you’re not the type to do this kind of thing at all._

“I need to go,” Yuuri said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“I will look forward to it,” he replied and wondered if it sounded too bold, but Yuuri hung up before he could add anything else.

He sighed, wondering what had gotten into him that morning, and put the issue down. He picked up _Fantastic Man_ instead. _Your friend would never write something like this about me._

 

As soon as it became known to the public that Yuuri Katsuki had written an article about Victor Nikiforov the demand for the new issue of _The New Yorker_ rose exponentially. Avid readers of gossip columns snatched up copies as quickly as they could and by midday there wasn’t a single copy left in any newsstand in the centre of New York.

The editor of _The New Yorker_ laughed about this and then put in a call to get more copies printed and out there for the people to read.

Few people noticed that Yuuri had actually written four other articles (Victor had, of course, and he’d spent a good hour comparing those articles to the one Yuuri had written about him). Barely anyone remarked on Yuuri’s writing style or even how many facts he’d presented about Victor’s past. Everyone wanted to know one thing: what did he write about their affair?

Nothing. Not a single hint. Yuuri had remained as distant and neutral as the article had allowed him to be.

But what about the other affairs? Surely, he’d written about them and used them against Victor in some way?

Still nothing.

Yuuri had created a very detailed and very truthful portrait of Victor. Was there a hint about his feelings in the tone of the article? No one was really sure. Oh people argued until they were blue in the face that, yes, the tone was very obvious, thank you very much, and that _of course_ he was still in love with Victor, but many others remained unconvinced.

Even Victor read through the article with a desire to know the answer to that question. But was it there or was his imagination playing tricks on him?

 

Phichit called Chris that evening. He had a glass of wine in one hand and Yuuri’s article on the table in front of him. After they exchanged several pleasantries back and forth he got to the reason behind his phone call.

“I spent all day trying to explain to different people why that article in _The New Yorker_ wasn’t about me,” he laughed. “So how did the people at _Runway_ take it?”

Chris chuckled like a person who understood exactly what Phichit was getting at and wasn’t going to be fooled on the subject. “You should hear the wild theories going around here. We have people who worship Yuuri, you know.”

“Oh really?”

“And the most Important Person in the World of Fashion,” Phichit could actually hear the capital letters, “was his usual self today.” He paused. “I don’t know what you expect to hear from me, to be honest. He’s been more inspired than normal, but what does that really give you?”

Even Phichit had to admit that he didn’t know what to do with that information. It all sounded great in theory: have someone watch both sides to be able to do something if disaster struck. But what _could_ he do? Yuuri didn’t say a word about how things were going between them and Phichit was sure that he’d asked as many questions as he was sure to get away with. And if Victor _did_ do something, what then? What could he possibly do to keep Yuuri safe?

Maybe this was all a bad idea.

“No, no,” Chris muttered to himself, as if he’d read Phichit’s thoughts, “I think that was a coincidence.”

“What was a coincidence?” Phichit asked, jumping on his words.

“Only that he fired someone yesterday,” Chris answered.

Phichit brushed that aside. “That’s just part of the job. Coincidence has nothing to do with it.”

“It does when it’s a model who’s worked here ever since he became the editor and modelled for him before. It also does when you consider the fact that he’s never fired models before, not unless they did something stupid in front of him and this one wasn’t even fired to her face.” A worried tone was starting to creep into Chris’s voice.

“Sounds a bit like a coincidence, I suppose…” Phichit admitted. “What do you mean: modelled for him before?”

“He had a student model the clothes he designed back when he was still in university.” Chris chuckled. “Come to think of it, she used to tell everyone she was his girlfriend.”

“I don’t think I’d call it a coincidence, then,” Phichit said.

“Do you think –” Chris began, but Phichit interrupted him before he could say anything more. Before Chris could say what Phichit was thinking. For some mad reason, he was convinced that if Chris said it, it would somehow become true.

“I’ll look into it,” he promised.

He wasn’t sure _what_ he would find, but he was damned sure he would do his best to get to the very bottom of it, whatever it was.

 

The day before the issue with his article came out Yuuri was in his boss’s office. “I went over his biography,” he said, referring to his new assignment, “and I have a better idea for an article about him. You don’t need him in the list of influential people. I don’t have enough to prove it just yet, but if I get an interview from him, then I’ll have all the proof I need.”

His boss reclined in his seat. “And you think you can get one? Do you know he turned down every single request for an interview from our magazine?”

Yuuri smiled. “Give me a little bit of time. I’ll think of something.”

“I’ll give you two months,” he said. “What day is it today?”

“August fifth,” Yuuri answered, throwing a quick glance at the calendar on the wall.

“Alright, you have until the beginning of October.” He leaned forward and went through the papers on his desk. “In the meantime, I have a couple of easy assignments for you.”


	10. An Offer

It was the end of another evening, another prefect date, when the sudden realization hit Victor that several months had passed since that day when Yuuri had interviewed him. It felt like a lifetime ago.

 _I’ve never been in a long-term relationship before,_ Victor thought, _I don’t know how to do it. Every minute I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing. Every minute I worry that Yuuri will grow tired of me. How do I hold on to him? How do I keep things going on as they are? I’m happy like this. I don’t want things to change. No, that’s not true. I want more than this._

There was a lump in his throat and a stinging in his eyes.

 _I don’t know what to do._ He turned away, trying to hold back his tears, or to hide them at least, but they came without any permission from him. He, Victor Nikiforov, who was always in control, didn’t know what to do. He felt powerless and it frightened him. Yuuri could leave any minute and he wouldn’t be able to do a thing to stop him. And if he tried to stop him it would only make things worse.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asked. “Are you in pain?”

 _I am._ “It’s nothing,” he lied. “It’s fine. I-I’m fine.”

Yuuri put a hand on his arm. “Victor…” he whispered.

“I can’t stop! I can’t stop crying!” The words had come involuntarily from his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say them aloud. He hadn’t meant for Yuuri to see how much he’d lost control over himself. He put a hand over his mouth, but it was too late: the words were already out. He covered his face with both hands and turned away.

“Let me take you upstairs,” Yuuri suggested gently.

They’d taken a walk near Victor’s apartment this time and now they stood just outside, just under his windows, where… No, he couldn’t continue that train of thought.

Victor gathered all his self-control and lowered his hands from his face. It was hard to look into Yuuri’s open face and put on a brave face. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this. You really don’t need to… I’ll be fine.”

Yuuri pulled the handkerchief Victor had given him from his pocket and wiped away Victor’s tears. Every time Victor saw him now he had that handkerchief with him. He’d often thought about this, but he’d never imagined that Yuuri would use it the way he was using it now.

“You don’t need to feel embarrassed. I’ll look after you. Let’s go,” Yuuri whispered.

Victor thought of his apartment. He would feel better there, he was certain. Behind its walls he’d feel like he was in a fortress. He nodded and let Yuuri lead him away.

He felt Yuuri touch his elbow gently, as if he was going to take him by it, but changed his mind. They entered the building and went up in the elevator.

An old feeling stole over him, one he hadn’t had in a long time as he realized that for the first time in many months he was going home with someone by his side.

He stopped at the doorway, waiting for Yuuri to unlock the door as he had each time they returned together a whole lifetime ago.

Yuuri looked at him expectantly.

And Victor remembered that he didn’t have his key anymore.

There had been a time when Yuuri had the key to Victor’s apartment, when he could go in and out whenever he wanted (or, to be more accurate, when Victor wanted), but not anymore.

He’d returned the key when he’d quit his job and Victor remembered all the pain he’d felt at the sight of the little box with the key inside.

The old wounds, all of those cuts he’d thought had already healed, opened up and stung.

Yuuri, led him into the living room, sat him down on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. There had been a time when Yuuri kept food in the fridge and made him breakfast in the mornings, but after Yuuri had left Victor had thrown everything out. He avoided eating at home. It was no fun anymore, only painful. It was surprising how many simple things had become painful over time.

And now it wasn’t just the little things, which were painful, but everything.

Yuuri came out of the kitchen with a glass of water in his hand.

Victor drank and the tears stopped at last.

He put the empty glass down and invited Yuuri to sit with him.

But Yuuri remained standing. “Do you feel better now?” he asked softly.

_What are you feeling right now, Yuuri? Is this as painful for you as it is for me? Is that why you’re keeping your distance? It was a mistake to bring you here._

He nodded and forced a smile. “I’m fine. You should go home. It’s late.”

Yuuri bit his lip uncertainly. “A-are you sure? Will you be okay?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t look into that open and honest face. He couldn’t watch it twist with worry for him. “M-may I see you tomorrow?” he asked, voice and heart breaking.

“Of course.”

He dared not reach out and touch Yuuri. He’d made so many mistakes, but Yuuri was too precious to lose now. _How do I keep you? How do I make you want to stay?_

Yuuri raised a hand and brushed a lock of Victor’s hair out of his face. “Tomorrow,” he promised and left.

The door closed behind him, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Makkachin put his paws on his knees and Victor clutched him to his chest.

 

Yuuri went home in a thoughtful mood. Victor – or as he now nicknamed him, Vicchan – stuck close to his legs, like he always did when he saw that his owner was upset.

Something was obviously wrong in Victor’s life, but he refused to tell Yuuri what it was. It must’ve happened recently, since yesterday he’d been his usual happy and charming self.

In fact, he’d never seen Victor this broken before.

Yuuri’s heart thumped painfully in his chest.

If only he knew what it was! Maybe he could help him somehow.

He paced his room as Vicchan followed him excitedly back and forth, barking happily, but Yuuri was too lost in his thoughts to notice.

He stopped, pulled his phone out and called Victor. On the third ring he picked up.

“Yuuri?” It was his usual voice, the same that tugged on something in Yuuri’s heart in a way that no other voice could.

“I wanted to know if… if there was something I could do to help,” he said.

There was a pause and in a voice that told Yuuri that he wasn’t going to back down Victor answered, “I’m fine. I really am.”

_Then why were you crying?_

It was a stupid question, but he asked it anyway, “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

_Alright, I’ll accept that answer. But only for now and only because I have to._

 

“I don’t know who to ask,” Victor admitted, walking into Chris’s office the next morning and jumping straight to the point as quickly as he could. “Stephane is off on another trip to France and I’d rather not talk about this over the phone.” He stopped in front of Chris.

Chris raised his head from the magazine in his hands. He looked surprised to see Victor in his office, which was understandable: after all, not only had Victor never visited him here, but he also had no idea where Chris’s office was and spent a good half hour looking for it.

“You’re Yuuri’s friend. He mentioned that he still talks to you,” Victor went on, determined to get it over with.

Chris gave him an odd look that Victor couldn’t understand.

“I’m seeing him again,” Victor admitted, “but I don’t…” He paused. “I don’t know…” The words sounded foreign on his lips and were hard to say. “I don’t know how to be in a long-term relationship.”

Chris frowned and sat with a thoughtful expression on his face while Victor waited, feeling like their usual roles had been reversed.

“When a relationship goes on for long enough,” Chris began slowly, as if weighing every word as he said it, “people will come to a point where they have to decide if they want to be together for the rest of their lives (or, at least, the foreseeable future), or, alternatively, if being together is a bad idea after all.” He looked into Victor’s face as he said this, no doubt, trying to see his reaction. “Sometimes,” he hesitated. “Sometimes, people move in together for a while just to try it out.”

For the first time during their conversation Victor noticed the ring on Chris’s finger. “I didn’t know,” he said, nodding at it. “Congratulations!”

Chris lowered his eyes, as if he’d forgotten about it. “Oh yes. As I remember, Yuuri had a good time.” He shot Victor a look.

Victor stepped back, muttered an excuse and left.

He was back in his office when his phone rang. It was Yuuri.

“I slept in today,” came his dear voice, “and I’m in a big rush, so I apologize ahead of time if I drop my phone by accident. How do you feel? Do you feel better after tomorrow?”

“Yes. Much better. Thank you.” Did he dare ask it? Might as well: he will find out sooner or later, anyway. “Yuuri,” he paused, “when did Chris get married?”

“In August,” Yuuri answered. “Why?”

Almost two months had gone by and only now Victor found out about it. Yuuri’s words rang in his head.

_“Look around you, Victor! How many people are you treating like instruments to get a job done? Do you ever stop to think that maybe they have their own lives, their own feelings? That they have something apart from all this? How many lives have you destroyed? Do you really think it’s worth it? Just over a fashion magazine?”_

“No reason.”

Yuuri said nothing and the line was silent for several seconds.

“I’ll see you after work,” Yuuri finally said.

“Yuuri…” Victor paused and plunged on. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

There was a brief pause during which Victor prepared what he would say when the inevitable “no” came.

“Dinner? Sure.”

Lunches were still off limits, but maybe he could work hard to earn the privilege of regular dinners. He could start with one and go to more. And, besides, there was still the thing he’d thought about last night. He’d need to prepare extensively for this one. At least he knew the perfect spot this time.

After trying at least a dozen different breakfast places with Yuuri he managed to work out what his tastes were.

“I’ll send you the address,” he promised Yuuri.

And he promised himself that he’d arrive ahead of time to get everything perfect.

That was how he ended up waiting for Yuuri in a small restaurant with two glowing candles on the table in front of him as the only waiter kept smiling encouragingly at him across the room.

Every two minutes she would appear at his side and offer him a glass of water he would decline.

He glanced at the clock on the wall and wondered if accepting it would mean that she would stop bothering him.

The doors opened and Yuuri came in. He threw a look around the room, caught Victor’s eye and smiled. But the smile didn’t stay on his face for long. He was halfway to Victor when he noticed what was on the table and the smile started to fade.

He stopped at his chair, as if not sure if he wanted to sit down after all.

Victor rose to his feet to help Yuuri into his chair, but seeing Yuuri’s eyes go wide, dropped back down.

Eyeing the candles as if they’d offended him somehow, Yuuri lowered himself onto his chair.

Victor cursed every candle in existence and himself for thinking they were a good idea.

The waitress chose that moment to appear at their table to take their order.

They took their time going through the menu and deciding what they wanted, as if it was an important decision.

He was stalling for time. They both were.

As soon as the waitress left he knew he had to act. It was then or never. Who knew how soon she would be back with their drinks?

“I have an important question for you,” Victor admitted.

Yuuri looked terrified and Victor could see what went through his mind.

“I…I don’t really know how to say this,” Victor began. “I’ve never met anyone like you before. It was mistake that it took me so long to see this.” He sighed. “You were right about me: I don’t see people around me, just their functions. I lost you once and I’m terrified I’ll make the same mistake again. I’m demanding and proud, and selfish. I’m not good at caring for others.” He swallowed. “But I want to learn how to be. Each time we meet up I walk away, feeling like it’s not enough.” He wished he could reach out for Yuuri, but he felt as if Yuuri was retreating within himself again. He had to tread carefully and watch his words. “I have no right to ask for more, I know.” He put his hand in his pocket and saw the panic in Yuuri’s eyes. He pulled it out and opened it to show it was still empty. “I was thinking… If you’re not too opposed to the idea… Would you consider moving in to live with me?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened.

“I have a spare room,” Victor hastened to add. “We can put a desk there and you can use it like an office. It’s big enough for a bed too, so you can sleep in there, if… if you want to.” _I want to give you everything I have in one go, but I know that you won’t accept it all._

Yuuri remained silent.

“We can walk Makkachin and Vicchan in the evenings and eat in, if you like.” He hated eating in, but he was sure that if Yuuri was with him, he would enjoy it.

Still Yuuri said nothing. The silence was starting to frighten him.

 _He’s trying to think of a way to say ‘no’,_ Victor thought. “I understand why you wouldn’t want to. The offer stands, no matter what happens. If you change your mind later, let me know.” He would have to leave it at that. He could see that if he pushed the question, it would only make matters worse.

The waitress arrived with their food and they dug in without a word. After dinner came dessert, by which point Victor managed to regain enough of his self-control to make small talk. He hated it, but it was an old habit that was easy to fall back on and he couldn’t think of any other way to suppress his feelings.

“I’ll think about it,” Yuuri said as the bill arrived, “but only if you let me split bills with you.”

His face spread in a smile and hope bloomed.

Victor held the bill out without another word.

 

When they said goodbye in the back of Victor’s car Victor reached into his inside pocket again and pulled out a little box. He saw the terror return to Yuuri’s eyes and hesitated before holding it out.

“Your keys,” he said simply. “I’ve kept them all this time. The…” he swallowed, “the new second assistant,” for some reason admitting he’d hired someone for Yuuri’s position suddenly felt like betrayal, “had a new set made for him. I told them you kept yours.”

Yuuri stared at the keys, but made no move to take them.

Victor pulled his hand away. “I just wanted you to know that I still have them, just in case you wanted them… back.”

Yuuri reached out and held his hand in the air above them for several seconds before his fingers closed over the box and he took it. Then he looked at Victor. “I’ll think about it,” he promised before climbing out of the car and leaving.

Victor watched him go, unable to tear his eyes away.

_He didn’t want to upset me. Why doesn’t he just say “no”? Why does he give me false hope?_

 

Phichit smiled when he saw Yuuri rush in. The boy was so happy, he seemed to be floating above the ground. His eyes were glowing and there was a smile on his face.

Things were going well with Victor, then.

He didn’t know how he felt about this. The old animosity between their two magazines was fading away and he could feel Victor’s hand behind it. The editor of _Runway_ didn’t want to fight Yuuri Katsuki’s best friend.

Or so it seemed, in any case.

Phichit had been editor long enough to have seen all kinds of dirty tricks to still be suspicious.

But here was Yuuri – happier than ever and Phichit knew that in his situation he’d always make the same choice: Yuuri over _Fantastic Man_. He didn’t even need to stop and think.

“Hey, Phichit! Sorry, I ran a little late. Traffic was heavy and I got stuck.” He hugged Phichit and dropped into his seat.

“Don’t worry about it.” _I always get here early, because I don’t know what would happen if you saw that I wasn’t there._ “Did something good happen?” he asked, resting his chin on his arm. “You know how much I like good news.”

Yuuri laughed and Phichit was willing to forgive Victor almost everything. Almost. “Victor… well, he wants me to move in with him!” he exclaimed.

This announcement was met with stony silence.

Yuuri lowered his eyes. “Is it such a bad idea?”

“I don’t know,” Phichit admitted quietly.

“He said I’ll get my own room and,” Yuuri blushed, “we’ll sleep separately from each other.”

Phichit sighed. Yuuri was still a child, despite his actual age, and despite everything that he’d been through.

“Maybe we can just be friends for now,” Yuuri said.

 _And, maybe, if I cross a highway with my eyes closed, I’ll survive,_ Phichit thought bitterly.

“You’re not convinced,” Yuuri pointed out.

“No,” Phichit admitted. “How do we know he won’t hurt you again? How can you march over there and put yourself into his power again? Next you’ll tell me you’re going to take your old job back and be his assistant again!”

Yuuri’s face flushed angrily. “I never would!” he exclaimed.

“Sorry, Yuuri,” Phichit reached out, but Yuuri snatched his hand away.

“I know I’m weak, I know everyone thinks they have to be careful when they talk to me. I know!”

“You’re not weak,” Phichit argued.

“I am,” Yuuri said. “If it hadn’t been for you, who knows where I’d be right now?”

“The same goes for all of us,” Phichit said. “It’s hard dealing with heartbreak. Few people can do it on their own.”

There were tears in Yuuri’s eyes. “And Victor? What about him? He has feelings too! He has no one –”

“Because he’s too proud,” Phichit countered.

“It still means he has no one,” Yuuri retorted. “People make mistakes and I’m giving him a second chance! And you’re acting like it’s a crime!”

“I’m just worried what will happen if he breaks your heart again,” Phichit said with a sigh.

“No one knows what will happen,” Yuuri told him. “But I’m willing to believe him, because…” he paused, “because he’s opening up to me and letting me open up to him. I guess, in a way, we’re meeting each other halfway.”

Phichit smiled. “Alright. I can’t tell you what to do, anyway.” He shifted back in his chair. “I like your new tie.”

“He gave it to me,” Yuuri admitted.

“And that handkerchief too.”

Yuuri nodded. It was the first time he wore it to a lunch with Phichit. He couldn’t help wondering if it meant something that he’d put it on after the conversation the day before. “I’ve had it for a while now,” he admitted.

Phichit changed the subject after that and asked about Yuuri’s job, telling him a little about how things were going at _Fantastic Man_.

The waiter came and went several times.

“I need to go,” Yuuri said an hour later, throwing a look at his watch. He rose from his seat. “I have a dance lesson in an hour and I need to change.”

“Dance lesson?” Phichit repeated in surprise.

Yuuri froze in the act of pulling on his coat. “V-Victor booked us a couple of lessons. Just for fun.”

Phichit watched his face carefully. “And what kind of dancing is it?”

“Old-fashioned dancing,” Yuuri answered. “Victor really enjoys swing dancing.” He blushed. “He’s really good.”

 

The music started to play and Victor pulled Yuuri closer. They spun around together. Victor smiled, watching Yuuri’s eyes gleam from excitement. The boy kicked out his feet, almost laughing from joy.

Victor followed in his steps. Once a week they met up for a lesson for 45 minutes. Or, at least, for the past three weeks, they’d met up once a week.

The instructor walked among the dancing pairs and shouted over the music. “Stop staring at your feet!”

Yuuri was incredible. When he danced Victor couldn’t help feeling as if his body was making music. He gave into the dance completely, letting it carry him away, not caring how it would make him look, while Victor still worried if his hair was out of place and needed each step to be perfect.

He thought he knew Yuuri better now. The boy never wanted to hurt anyone and would often do something that put him in a terrible position just so someone else wouldn’t suffer. People thought this made him weak or a pushover. But Victor knew how easy it was to give in to selfish impulses, how easy it was to forget everyone else and how hard it was to think of others.

 _I love you_ , he thought. _You’re what I can’t be: open and honest and you complete me. Everyone I’ve ever dated was vain and wanted something for themselves. You never want anything. With you I feel better, cleaner. It’s not just inspiration. I’m a better person._

They danced on in outfits he’d designed one night when insomnia troubled him yet again. He’d thought of Yuuri’s delight as he spun and felt the inspiration flow. And now here they were: dancing in matching suits. He had a vest with pink and gold, while Yuuri’s was blue and gold.

He’d picked swing. Tango and salsa he ruled out right away: he was too deeply in love to trust himself with such passionate dances. In fact, he’d spent an afternoon, going through every dance ever invented by man before finally making his choice.

Still there were moments when he wondered if this was a terrible idea. Moments when he spent an entire night holding Yuuri’s hand only to realize that he couldn’t let go of it at the end.

And just like that the lesson ended.

Yuuri stood, chest rising and falling as he tried to regain his breath. He caught Victor’s eye and smiled.

Victor raised Yuuri’s hand, as had become their tradition, and kissed it. “I look forward to another dance.” He felt bold. His heart beat fast. His blood pumped in his veins with more energy than before and that must’ve been why he added, “If you move in with me, we can practice every day.”

Too late he realized what he’d said. Too late he put a hand over his mouth, as if to stop the words slipping out. Too late.

“I’m sorry!” he exclaimed.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Yuuri said. “It sounds great!”

Dancing lessons. Why hadn’t he thought of it back then, the first time around? He would’ve seen then what kind of partner Yuuri was.

Emboldened by Yuuri’s words, he went an extra step. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

“You don’t mean that,” Yuuri laughed. “What about all those models?”

“They don’t have your energy or your charm,” Victor countered. “Their looks are just the outside and nothing more.”

“I don’t have charm,” Yuuri argued. “You’re the one with charm.”

They flirted as if nothing had happened. As if they hadn’t both suffered from heartbreak.

Victor squeezed Yuuri’s hands, but not the way he usually squeezed hands: strongly, as if testing how much they could withstand, but the way Yuuri squeezed hands: ever so slightly, just enough so that the other person knew that their hand was being squeezed.

Yuuri leaned forward.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he could be so close while Victor used every muscle, every cell in his body to keep from pulling him closer and snatching a kiss.

Yuuri’s lips touched Victor’s cheek, but very briefly, dropping a kiss, as if it was a crime.

“Again…” Victor breathed out and all he could see were Yuuri’s eyes and slightly reddened cheeks.

“Sorry…” Yuuri whispered and turned away.

Victor held out his arms, but Yuuri escaped from his grasp. He watched Yuuri walk away and, despite the promise to meet the next day, Victor felt heartbroken.

He was the weak one, the one who crumpled at the merest touch. Yuuri was much stronger than he was.

He stood as everything inside him broke down, as the walls he’d built so long ago fell completely.

 _Tomorrow_ , he told himself. _Tomorrow._ But it was too uncertain. He wanted something definite. But what more could he ask from Yuuri?

 

Yuuri was running out of time. The two months his boss had given him were almost over. But one week before his time was up there was an invitation for a party that would get him exactly what he needed and two days before his deadline too.

It meant he would have to go and confront the person he least wanted to see in the flesh, but that was nothing to the realization that he had to call Victor and cancel all plans for that evening. That instead of going to a dance lesson and having fun he would be in a place where every guest made his skin crawl and still grin and bear it.

He sighed and picked up his phone. Might as well get it over with.

As always Victor greeted him happily as soon as he picked up.

Yuuri cursed himself as he shattered all joy in that voice. _I’ll make it up to you, I promise._

He clutched the key in his hand as he hung up. He still hadn’t given Victor his answer.

 

It was exactly like Yuuri had imagined it, all formal and full of what someone would’ve undoubtedly called the pillars of the community. These pillars walked about, mingled, made jokes and did plenty of other things to make it look like they were having fun.

But to Yuuri it was just a façade and nothing more.

The people that came were from different circles, but they had one thing in common: money.

And all of them where here for one reason: to celebrate an engagement of a young woman who wouldn’t have been very remarkable, if her father hadn’t been the man Yuuri needed to interview.

There they were now at one end of the big hall where everyone else could flock to them and tell them how wonderful they were.

Yuuri took a deep breath as if he was about to dive underwater and prepared himself mentally for the challenge in front of him.

And then several people exclaimed in surprise, making him turn.

A new person had arrived at the party.

It was Victor.


	11. Dancing

Yuuri hadn’t expected to run into Victor at the party. But, then again, of course he would’ve been invited. He was exactly the sort of person who would’ve received an invitation (unlike him, who needed to pull a few strings to get his). It occurred to Yuuri that at some point in the past few weeks he’d stopped thinking of Victor as the editor of _Runway_ and started thinking of him as just Victor without any titles or adjectives attached.

And now he stood rooted to the spot, unable to decide which way to go: towards the man he’d come to interview for his job, or towards the man who’d become the most important person in his life.

But, then again, when he thought about it, there wasn’t really a choice, was there? Because there was only one thing he could do in a situation like this.

 

Victor hadn’t planned on accepting the invitation. He was going to spend the evening with Yuuri. They were supposed to go to another dance lesson together.

But Yuuri had cancelled their plans (with a lot of apologies and promises to make up for it later, which Victor was secretly looking forward to). So he went, not because he wanted to go, not because he was expected to attend, but because an evening spent alone was an evening spent alone with his thoughts and he wanted to avoid that at all costs. He went to be around other people and to try and block out the madness in his mind.

People swarmed to him as soon as he entered the great hall and pulled him into a conversation.

He forced himself to care about politics and listened attentively to what was said. In theory, anyway. In practice he still didn’t care, despite the identity of his host.

He realized then just how much the world of fashion had drawn him in. He’d been so busy establishing and studying the current trends that he barely knew what was going on in the regular world outside. Before that night he barely even knew who the President was and, even then, it was mostly by name.

And, so, when they spoke it was as if they were speaking a different language and when they agreed on an opinion, he wondered if he’d misheard, because he found he didn’t agree with them at all and couldn’t understand how they agreed on it in the first place.

He had to leave. It didn’t matter if it was impolite, he had to go. But he knew what going home meant and he wasn’t ready to face that.

A waiter walked by with a tray and he took a glass of champagne from it.

But one glass of champagne wasn’t enough and so he made his way to the table which was loaded with more glasses.

Three glasses in and someone appeared at his side.

“You’ll want to be careful. From what I remember you got into trouble doing something like this before.”

He knew that voice! He turned and saw Yuuri giving him a worried look.

“Yuuri!” he exclaimed.

He didn’t even question Yuuri’s presence. Of course he was here. Victor was here and, so, Yuuri had to be here too. It was the law, or something.

He was faintly aware of a flaw in his logic, but ignored it.

Yuuri was here.

He smiled as Yuuri gently talked him into walking away from the drink. He felt just a little light-headed. He wasn’t drunk. Not yet. Not quite. But he was getting there.

Yuuri threw an anxious look around them and then invited Victor to take a walk with him. They kept to the perimeter of the hall.

For a while Yuuri was silent, but when he finally spoke it was to apologize over and over again and to say something about coming here for work. Victor’s head felt too light to properly understand everything Yuuri was saying.

He was touched. He stopped and listened to Yuuri talk. And then he made a step closer.

Yuuri stepped back, the expression on his face changing to that of fear. His eyes darted around the hall and Victor understood.

They would be seen and Yuuri was afraid of that.

He stiffened. “It’s very kind of you to worry about me and talk to me, but if you’re here for work…” He froze, realizing the words that had escaped his lips.

They stood in stunned silence, eyes locked on each other.

“I… I didn’t mean that!” Victor exclaimed and reached out. He stopped himself right before his hand touched Yuuri and he snatched it away. “I’m sorry! I meant to say…” What? That he was suddenly in public with Yuuri! Someplace where people would see them and comment. “It’s the alcohol,” he lied. “I’ve had too much. I need to go,” the last word dropped like a heavy weight, “home.”

Yuuri’s eyes had a look in them he couldn’t understand. He tried to make sense of his expression, tried to see what Yuuri felt about all this. Tried and failed.

Could he ask Yuuri to take him back home? No, no he would never agree to it.

He turned and searched around for the exit.

Around him people chatted away about this and that. They went on about their lives, about politics, about normal topics normal people talked about.

The world was dull and awkward. Much like… He searched around for a suitable comparison. Much like he was.

It was time to stop embarrassing himself and go home.

 

Victor had a pained look on his face. He wasn’t drunk, Yuuri could see that. As he stumbled over his apology, stopping before each word, as if mentally checking if it was the right one, Yuuri felt his pain himself.

He was going to leave. He’d come here, presumably to enjoy himself (after all, what else did people do at parties?) and now Yuuri, after cancelling their plans, ruined Victor’s entire evening.

There was a lot of press here. Someone must’ve noticed them together by now. Tomorrow the gossip columns would be full of rumours and speculations. Today Victor was going home with a broken heart.

Yuuri felt as if his own heart was breaking.

And then the band struck up a tune and not just any tune. It was their tune (or, at least, one of the ones they’d danced to in dance class).

There was a man for him to interview. There was an article to prepare for. There was further press coverage to avoid, at least.

The press had finally gotten tired of writing about him. Would he really do something now that would draw their attention back to him again? Would he risk getting hounded by the press especially since now he _was_ the press?

 _Yes_.

Yuuri took Victor’s hand and gave him a gentle smile. “Dance with me.”

Victor nodded and followed Yuuri out to the dancefloor.

They were willingly putting themselves in the centre of everyone’s attention. What would they write about them tomorrow? What mad things would they do this time to get an interview form him?

Victor’s face split into a smile as he took Yuuri’s other hand.

And all of Yuuri’s worries faded away.

They moved fast, forgetting everything, letting the beat take them away, too caught up in the music to think about anything else. Victor wasn’t watching his feet this time, his eyes were on Yuuri and it only pushed Yuuri on, making his blood boil.

They didn’t bother following the usual dance moves they rehearsed in class, but improvised based on what they knew. Yuuri led and Victor followed, understanding him from a single gesture, from a mid-step. And always they held on. Even if they let go of one hand, the other still clung on, as if afraid of what would happen if it were to let go.

Victor came closer and then he was further away again. No, no, it was Yuuri who was moving closer and then further. He pulled Victor after him, not content with their small part of the dancefloor and taking more of it away from the others.

Victor’s hair was starting to get that dishevelled look that brought back forbidden memories. A time Yuuri didn’t dare think about now.

But Victor was close again and it was so hard to focus on the dance and not think about things he wasn’t allowed to think about. His cheeks were slightly flushed.

Why was Victor always so beautiful when they danced? What was it about the dance that changed him so much? It always made not kissing him so hard.

The music ended and they stopped moving, eyes locked on each other. They were too close to each other in that moment, illegally close.

Yuuri raised his hand and reached out for Victor.

Everyone around them burst out into applause, startling Yuuri and making him look around in embarrassment.

Victor put one arm around him protectively, his fingers a few inches away from Yuuri.

“That was amazing!” a young woman exclaimed rushing up to them. Her father followed close behind.

A shudder went through Yuuri, but he put on his best smile and thanked her as politely as he could.

“I didn’t know we invited professional dancers,” the man said and everyone laughed as if the joke was very witty.

Everyone except him and Victor.

Victor’s hand was still around him protectively. Yuuri threw him a look, but Victor still had a polite smile on his face that was so good at hiding his thoughts.

“Victor Nikiforov,” he said, holding out his hand.

 _Don’t shake his hand!_ Yuuri grabbed Victor’s hand as soon as the thought formed in his mind.

He was suddenly aware of everyone’s stares.

“S-sorry,” he stammered out, thinking fast, “I felt dizzy for a moment.”

“And you are?” their host asked.

“Yuuri Katsuki, _The New Yorker_ ,” he answered coolly.

“A reporter,” the man sniffed in distaste. “There seem to be plenty of those around tonight. And what do you want? What wild liberal nonsense will you write about all this?”

“I wanted to ask you a few questions,” Yuuri said. His insides were all running for cover, but he pressed on. “But you don’t accept interviews from _The New Yorker_.”

“Why would I give interviews to a magazine that publishes lies? It’s just a waste of my time!” the man spat. “And a waste of my time is a waste of everyone’s time!”

Yuuri opened his mouth to protest, but he was interrupted before he could utter a word.

“Get this reporter out of my sight! Who let him in? When I find out who let him in here, I will…”

Yuuri suddenly became aware of just how many bodyguards there were in the room and that all of them were converging on him. There was only one thing to do now: turn around and leave.

“No doubt you slept with someone just to get in here,” the man said with a disgusting laugh. On cue, the guests all joined in.

“Let’s go, Yuuri,” Victor said, “I’ve never been to such a terrible party in my life. Let’s not waste our time here.”

He walked out in a daze and only when they were getting their coats did the enormity of the situation really hit him.

“I messed up,” he whispered as Victor helped him into his coat.

“Sorry?”

“I messed up,” he repeated in a louder tone of voice and looked up into Victor’s face. “I was going to ask him a couple of clever questions to get the answers I needed. I prepared all day yesterday, but when the time came I screwed up!” He gave a sad laugh. “And, to think, I told my boss that I could get this interview!”

They stepped outside together.

“What will happen now?” Victor asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t write that article now.” They walked out of the building and Yuuri watched someone rush off absent-mindedly. “I don’t think I’ll get fired over this, but I really don’t know. I’ve never messed up an assignment before. I don’t know what happens to those who do.” He sighed again and stopped.

Only afterwards did the irony of their conversation hit him.

Victor stood next to him, saying nothing.

A car pulled up and stopped several steps away from them. It was Victor’s car.

“But I had fun today,” Yuuri admitted, turning around and facing Victor at last. “I really enjoyed the dance.” He smiled.

Victor looked at his watch. “It’s too late for that lesson now, or I would offer to take you there.” He held out his hand, as if inviting Yuuri to a dance anyway.

“There must be somewhere we can go.” Yuuri reached out and took Victor’s hand. He needed another dance more than anything. To go home now would make the evening feel incomplete.

Besides, it was Friday, which meant that he didn’t need to get up early the next day. He could stay out late and sleep in.

“There must be a place where we can go dancing,” Yuuri said and watched a smile appear on Victor’s face.

“Let’s find one,” Victor offered.

They walked to his car together. Victor held the door open for him and he slipped inside with a smile. Victor joined him and they sat side by side, searching for a place on Yuuri’s phone.

Victor’s hand rested on his shoulder and Yuuri shifted closer until his other shoulder touched him.

“This one looks promising,” Yuuri said after a while and Victor gave the address to his driver.

They stayed close throughout the ride, neither of them saying anything.

He knew they came to the right place as soon as they entered the bar. Stepping inside was like stepping back in time. A band played in the corner. The man at the piano nodded happily to the tune while the trumpet player and the clarinetist took turns getting carried away and the violinist kept up with them, a smile on his face. They had no singer, but they didn’t need one. There was an area clear of tables in the middle where people danced and spun around as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Men and women laughed and had fun as others clapped along, cheering them on from the sides.

“Should we join them?” Victor asked.

Yuuri rushed out of his coat and pulled Victor after him, too caught up in the excitement to say anything.

He didn’t notice time go by as one tune was replaced by another. The hours just flew by. They were so close. Under the dim lights of that warm room they followed each other without exchanging a single word, ready to understand the other person at a simple gesture.

When the band got tired of playing, when barely any dancers were left, when the last tune ended and everyone was told to go home (and it really was late by that point) Yuuri stopped several inches away from Victor with a smile.

He had that slightly dishevelled look again as a blush played on his cheeks. It drew Yuuri in and he caught Victor’s mouth in a kiss before he even knew what he was doing.

But he held on. He held on because he didn’t want to let go, because letting go would have been wrong. His hands reached out hesitantly and rested on Victor’s arms. Victor responded, but he wasn’t reaching out for Yuuri and he couldn’t help wondering why that was.

Victor’s lips were warm. There was that old feeling of excitement when they kissed that he’d missed so much and would never forget.

He pulled away and looked into Victor’s face. “Thank you.”

 

How could he sleep after a night like that? Victor lay in bed, going over every detail of that night as sleep stubbornly refused to come. How delighted Yuuri was with the dance. How they went home together. How he watched Yuuri the whole ride long, wondering if he dared to risk another kiss, or if Yuuri would come on his own. How they’d stopped by his house. How Yuuri smiled at him before leaving the car. How he stared out the window after him, willing himself to get out and unable to move from his spot.

 _You should be here with me,_ he suddenly thought and sat up.

No, there wouldn’t be any sleep for him that night. So he did what he always did when insomnia troubled him: got up and worked.

He worked all through the remainder of the night, which was really just very early in the morning by then. He worked on new designs, coming up with different ideas, some of which were mere experiments and had to be tossed away and some of which he set aside for looking at later.

He worked until late in the morning when he decided it was time to call Yuuri.

Then he rose from his seat and went to get dressed.

It was a sunny day. He stopped by a window to admire the weather outside. They could go for a walk together. They could take Makkachin and Vicchan and spend the whole afternoon outside.

He dressed and reached out for his phone to call when it rang.

His heart leapt. Yuuri called first! Just as he was going to call him, here Yuuri was – beating him to it. Maybe he was calling to say when he wanted to meet with Victor. Maybe he was calling to say that he decided to move in with him after all.

He saw who the caller was and his heart fell.

“Good morning, Yakov,” he said as soon as he accepted it. “Is something wrong? Or am I going to get phone calls from you every Saturday morning from now on?” He wondered how he could get rid of Yakov as quickly as possible so that he could talk to Yuuri.

Yakov launched into a rant without even a “hello”. He was so furious that he wasn’t making any sense. He didn’t stop for breath, but went on for ten minutes straight. All while Victor stared at the clock and wondered when the old man would run out of air.

“And what do you have to say for yourself? Hmm?” Yakov concluded at last.

“I didn’t understand a word of what you just said,” Victor admitted. “What happened?”

“You! You gave your word this would never happen again!” Yakov stormed.

“What are you talking about?” Victor asked with a sinking feeling. All of the happiness he’d felt evaporated in an instant and he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what this phone call was about.

“Have you seen the papers?”

“No, but I can send my housekeeper to get some,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

After he called Lilia and sent her after the papers the explanation didn’t take long to arrive. He stared at the headlines of several papers, feeling conflicted.

They all shouted loudly about his love affair with Yuuri.

 _I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a love affair,_ he mentally protested.

Then he remembered the kiss.

But Yuuri hadn’t kissed him again in the car when they were all alone. He hadn’t asked Victor to come with him when he returned to his apartment. He hadn’t even accepted Victor’s offer of moving in with him. The kiss could’ve meant anything. Or nothing.

“I’m seeing Yuuri again,” he admitted, “but I wouldn’t call it a love affair.”

“It doesn’t matter what you call it,” Yakov told him. “The press will only see it one way.”

Victor didn’t listen to anything else he said. If the press was going to see it their way, that only meant one thing: that they were going to attack Yuuri with their questions. Victor himself had managed to avoid the press, but how easy would that be for Yuuri? In a way, he _was_ the press. Add to that what happened yesterday with the failed interview and the end result was a very ugly picture indeed.

He made some sort of promise to Yakov and hung up.

He needed to see Yuuri. He needed to offer him his help. Maybe he even needed to convince him to move in with him.

For a moment he paused as a thought slipped into his mind. It was a wrong thought for him to have, but he couldn’t help it.

He stared down at the papers and wished that what they wrote _was_ true. He wished he _was_ having a love affair with Yuuri.

His eye fell on the words on one page. It was an account from a supposed eye-witness who claimed that they had definite proof that Yuuri was sleeping with Victor. It was poorly written and nothing more than a fiction, but for a brief instant he imagined that it was true.

He flipped to another newspaper and swallowed up the lies presented there.

Maybe others could see the lie, maybe no one else would accept it, but it didn’t matter.

He knew the truth and he knew what his deepest desire was.

Two newspapers later he tore himself away from this fiction. No, it was no good. He had to go talk to Yuuri. He had to focus on what was really happening and not on these fantasies. He had to help Yuuri in any way he could.

But he never tossed any of the newspapers out, preferring instead to take out all of the pages with articles about them and put them away somewhere for safekeeping.

 

Chris was having lunch with his husband when his phone rang. They’d been discussing the news. There didn’t seem to be a single newspaper or news website that wasn’t shouting loudly about Victor and Yuuri. And, of course, as always what was the use of shouting if you didn’t shout something scandalous?

“I think I know who this is,” he said as he pulled his phone out and nodded as soon as he read the caller’s name on the screen. “Good afternoon, Phichit.”

“Hello, Chris. Are you free? Can we talk?” Phichit asked.

Chris reached out and took his husband’s hand. “Of course we can talk. I don’t know about being free, though,” he joked and then chided himself for it. This was going to be a serious conversation. If he hadn’t read the news, he would’ve guessed as much by Phichit’s tone alone. “This is about those articles, isn’t it?”

“Actually, no,” Phichit said. “In fact, I’m wondering if these articles are a blessing in disguise.”

“Blessing?” he echoed, wondering if he’d misheard.

“Maybe blessing is the wrong word,” Phichit corrected himself. “Anyway, this is about Chihoko.”

“ _Oh_.”

“After Victor fired her,” Phichit went on like someone who knew they were about to start an unpleasant conversation, but was determined to get through it as quickly as possible, “she disappeared and I had a hard time trying to track her down. But I finally found her.”

Chris let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Who _is_ this Chihoko? I remember a girl in college who wasn’t all that different from any of the other girls, but the more we talk about her, the more I start to suspect that there’s something ominous about her. Are you about to tell me that she’s some sort of… I don’t know, spy or something? Or a criminal?”

Phichit laughed. “No, no, of course not! But I _did_ find something I need to tell Yuuri. Only problem is: I don’t know how to do it. How do I explain to Yuuri that I know who Chihoko is?”

“So you want me to tell him?”

“Yes,” Phichit confirmed.

“What is it?” _How bad is it?_

 

Yuuri came home late that Saturday evening. This time Victor walked Yuuri all the way to his door. They’d spent the whole day together, walking their dogs and then eating dinner in a small place they’d discovered by accident. In the evening they were outside again, walking through the streets, enjoying the night air and each other’s company.

It was hard to say goodbye. All day long they talked about almost everything that came to mind, carefully avoiding all references to the articles about them. And avoiding another topic.

Victor wanted to ask Yuuri to move in with him again, but how could he do that without irritating Yuuri? Was there any way to bring it up without being annoying?

He’d spent the day worrying about Yuuri. Even with Yuuri by his side he worried about him. What would all this mean for his career? What would all this mean for his personal life?

His heart told him that there was something else he needed to worry about, but he had no idea what it could possibly be.

When he first asked Yuuri to be with him he thought he knew what he needed to be happy. He thought that all it took was having Yuuri by his side and that everything else would take care of itself. He imagined spending days with Yuuri. He imagined that they would be the happiest moments of his life. And, in a way, they were.

But he never thought that he could also be in so much agony even when Yuuri agreed to see him again. He never imagined that he’d miss Yuuri while being with him. He never imagined that he’d spend every waking minute worrying about Yuuri as his mind drew new horrors to torture him with.

They stopped in front of Yuuri’s door and stared at each other, as if waiting for what the other person would do or say next.

Yuuri smiled. “Thank you for today.”

Victor stepped forward and put his arms around Yuuri. “I worry about you,” he admitted. “I worry that something will happen to you and I’ll be unable to do anything.” He felt Yuuri’s hands on his back and closed his eyes. “If ever you need anything, no matter what it is, you will ask me, right?”

There was a short pause and finally he heard Yuuri say. “I will.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

It would have to do for now. He forced himself to release Yuuri and step away. “Good night. I will call you again tomorrow.”

Yuuri nodded. There was still a hint of that smile on his face, but for some reason Victor didn’t believe it anymore. It wasn’t at all like the smile on his face when they’d danced the night before. But what could he do? What could he say?

“Tomorrow,” he repeated and left.

He paused in the stairwell and turned around just in time to see Yuuri enter his apartment and close the door behind him.

Suppressing a sigh, he went down the stairs.

 

Victor’s footsteps finished echoing in the stairwell when another figure slipped out of the stairwell. It had been on the landing above the whole time, watching Victor and Yuuri’s farewell.

Now they walked out into the corridor, making for the apartment opposite Yuuri’s. The key clicked in the lock and the door swung open and Chihoko returned to her apartment.


	12. What Can Chihoko Do?

Victor woke up with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that morning. He’d never had one before, at least not one which was that strong and so he spent forever trying to work out why it was there now. He’d even wondered briefly if it was food poisoning, but, no, that wasn’t it.

Something terrible was going to happen. He could feel it coming.

He’d never believed in forebodings before, but now…

He went through the day like through a bad dream, with the same feeling someone gets when they’re running away from something and they can see they’re not moving anywhere, all while the thing doing the chasing keeps gaining on them. He waited all day for something bad to happen, for disaster to strike, but nothing did and so he started to relax.

Maybe it was nothing, just his imagination. Maybe he’d had a bad dream he’d forgotten about. Maybe he’d woken up in a bad mood for no reason at all.

Nothing had gone wrong. In fact, the one meeting he’d suspected would go terribly had gone off without a hitch.

And then the evening came and the feeling intensified. It pushed him out of his penthouse suite and into his car.

“Where to, sir?” his driver asked.

 _Where?_ He wondered, feeling restless. He took a deep breath and gave Yuuri’s address. Would the boy have time to see him for an hour or so and put his mind at ease?

There was only one way to find out.

The car went through the streets of New York and Victor stared out the window at them, as if to make sure that they were all still there.

Outside life went on as normal: people sat in restaurants and cafés, enjoying themselves; others walked in and out of stores, looking for that dream purchase, for the best sale. The city was the same as it had always been. And even when they got stuck in traffic for an hour or so that was perfectly normal as well.

But then he spotted the smoke up ahead and the blocked off road and his heart sank. His driver went around, following instructions from the policemen diverting traffic. At the next intersection the driver was diverted again. The more his driver was diverted, the deeper Victor’s heart sank until he realized they’d gone around in a circle.

“I’m sorry, sir,” his driver said, “but I don’t think I can get to the address you requested. They closed down all of the roads to it.”

“Here is fine,” Victor said, opened the door and climbed out. He walked away without saying anything else.

Maybe it was the house nearby, maybe there was a perfectly normal explanation for the smoke, maybe there was some sort of parade…

Terrified screams filled the air. Victor pushed his way through a crowd, half of which was terrified and half – fascinated by the spectacle (so fascinated, in fact, that they’d pulled out their phones to record everything) until he could see what was happening.

Yuuri’s apartment building was on fire. There were some flames visible, but most of the building was enveloped in a thick black smoke. A ring of firemen surrounded the building as more of them went in. Policemen had roped off the area, doing their best to keep people out.

The sound of sirens blocked out the screams as more firetrucks arrived on the scene.

Victor spotted the nearest policeman and headed straight for him. He was arguing in an exasperated tone of voice with a man who wanted to go back inside to get something he’d forgotten.

“But how will I do anything tomorrow?” the man asked.

Victor swept in, interrupting the argument unceremoniously. “Officer! My…” he hesitated for just a moment to find the best word, but he knew that there were only a few options that would get him the attention he needed, “fiancé lives in that building! I need to know where he is! His name is –”

“Can’t help you there, sir,” the policeman cut in. “I’m under strict orders to not let anyone in. It isn’t safe until the firemen give the ok.”

Victor drew himself up to his full height. “I need to know he’s alright!”

“Then I suggest that you call him,” the policeman countered.

It took a lot of effort to resist the urge to snap back, but Victor managed it. The last thing he needed at a time like this was to be arrested. He pulled his phone out and called.

A polite voice told him that the owner of the phone was either out of range or had their phone switched off.

Victor could feel his head reel at this.

The policeman stepped up to him with his hands held out. “Sir?”

He took a deep breath and willed himself to keep standing. “Tell me what happened.”

“A fire, sir. I thought that was obvious.”

“How many dead? How many injured? Where did it start?” Suddenly he needed to know everything, every detail.

“No dead people, yet,” the policeman stammered out, caught by the force of Victor’s stare. “We think it started on the fifth floor. We can’t be sure of that or how it started.”

Fifth floor! Yuuri lived on the fifth floor!

Victor suppressed all his feelings. He needed to be in control. He needed to have a clear head right here and right now. He could deal with this. He _had_ to. “I demand to see everyone they bring out. No exceptions!”

“Sir –” the policeman tried to protest.

“I will speak with your superior. I will call up the head of the New York police, if I have to!” Victor stepped forward, his eyes flashing, his hold on his emotions slipping. In that moment he was ready to kill anyone who got in his way.

The policeman retreated.

Rarely did he lose control of himself like this. Rarely did he let emotions take him over and dictate all his actions. Rarely did he let someone else see him when he was this angry. But all of that didn’t matter now.

He waited for the policeman to give in, ready to wait all night, if he had to. When the terrified man nodded to show his agreement, he turned away and went through the crowd. It was possible that Yuuri was somewhere among them, but deep inside he knew that Yuuri was elsewhere.

The crowd – that part of it that wasn’t recording everything that was happening – screamed and wept, huddling together. A father clutched his little daughter close to his chest. A woman wept into another woman’s shoulder. He peered into every face, anyone who resembled Yuuri even a little from the back.

“At least we still have each other,” someone said, embracing someone else.

Victor turned away. Yuuri wasn’t in this crowd.

He walked back to the policeman and waited for them to bring people out.

That morning they’d had breakfast together. That morning there had been hope. That morning he’d seen a future for himself that wasn’t lonely, a future that he wanted.

 

_“I thought about your offer,” Yuuri said after their breakfast arrived and the waiter had left._

_“And?” Victor asked._

_Yuuri hesitated, taking his time to sip his coffee, as if he really wanted to check that it was the way he’d ordered it. It was an important decision for the both of them, Victor knew that, but what did Yuuri hesitating now mean? Victor braced himself for bad news._

_He watched the way the light fell on Yuuri’s face. They sat by the window that morning. The whole restaurant was empty, apart from the two of them, which suited the both of them just fine._

_“I will move in with you,” Yuuri said. “I thought a lot about it over the last few days and I realized that I_ want _to live with you.” He reached out and took Victor’s hand. “You’re right: these meetings aren’t enough and I want more too.”_

_Victor leaned forward and brought Yuuri’s hand to his lips._

_“Just give me a week to pack my things and deal with the paperwork,” Yuuri added._

There would be no things to pack now and very little paperwork, or, perhaps, a lot of paperwork.

_If Yuuri was still alive…_

He fought the thought down. He couldn’t think that now. He just couldn’t.

They brought the first person out and he ran to the stretcher and lifted the blanket off the person’s face before anyone could do anything to stop him. His eyes fell on a face deformed by burns and twisted in pain, and he stepped away, dropping the blanket back over that face.

He hadn’t thought about what state Yuuri could be in when they brought him out and this possibility pained him. He’d foolishly thought that once they brought Yuuri out everything would work out somehow and be just fine. He hadn’t considered the fire or what it might do to Yuuri. He hadn’t considered that Yuuri might come out harmed, deformed beyond recognition, or even dead.

But this wasn’t Yuuri.

He swallowed down his fear and his pain, and stepped towards the next person they brought out as bravely as he could.

That wasn’t Yuuri either.

Who knew what state Yuuri would be in when they finally brought him out? The fire started on his floor. It might’ve even started in his room.

He heard someone murmur about surgery and someone else say something about being stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of their lives.

 

_They decided they didn’t need lessons anymore. Instead they frequented that café they’d discovered and danced whenever they had a free evening. They spun around together. Yuuri would glow in the dim lights, drawing Victor in closer and closer each time. Their eyes were locked on each other and it didn’t really matter what music played, as long as it didn’t stop._

_Swing wasn’t supposed to be this passionate, he was sure of it, and, yet, here they were. He pulled Yuuri into an embrace and, once, he was bold enough to catch a kiss himself._

_Yuuri rewarded him with a smile and a kiss of his own._

_Victor went home with his head spinning. He stayed awake all night, thinking about the second kiss until morning came and he could get up and go to work and spend all day there thinking about the kiss. He had no other memories of that day._

Now Yuuri could be bound to a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

 _As long as you’re alive, I don’t care,_ Victor thought. _If I need to take care of you for the rest of your life, I will do it. I will do whatever it takes: feed you, clean after you. It doesn’t matter._

Victor examined everyone they brought out, getting into arguments when firemen and paramedics refused to let him anywhere near the people they’d brought out of the fire.

One person they brought out was burned beyond all recognition. No one said anything as Victor studied their face and then the person’s clothes, going so far as to even do a rough measurement of the width of the person’s shoulders.

“Not Yuuri,” he finally said in a voice that didn’t sound like his own. “It’s not Yuuri.”

He stepped back and someone caught him, but he pushed their hands away, refusing their help. He could do this alone.

The people they brought out were in different conditions. Some people just had trouble breathing, but were mostly unharmed by the fire, some were unconscious, and a few were dead.

Victor ran among them all, forgetting himself, his hair – a mess, his clothing in disarray, still searching for Yuuri, still not giving up hope.

“That must be everyone,” he heard a fireman say. “We must’ve gone through all the rooms by now.”

“You need to keep looking!” he insisted. “I told you – my fiancé is in there!”

And they kept going.

 _What would Yuuri do?_ Victor suddenly thought, looking around the crowd, as if for inspiration. _He wouldn’t give up, surely!_

 

_“Did you tell your boss how that interview went?” Victor asked one evening._

_Yuuri gave him a smile. “I did. He said he wasn’t surprised. I offered to try again, but he told me not to bother.” Yuuri stopped to get a look at something in a display window. “Our magazine has a long nasty history with him, from way before he became the most important man in America. Or one of them, anyway.”_

_Victor took Yuuri’s hand with a smile. It was so good to walk side by side like this as the city drifted off into the nightlife. In that moment he didn’t need anything else: he was completely happy._

_“He also asked if I wanted to take my own interview in light of all the articles about me.”_

_They laughed together at this joke and then imagined aloud how the interview would go._

 

They brought out someone else, but it wasn’t Yuuri. It was a woman with long dark hair.

Maybe he’d missed Yuuri in the crowd somehow. He pushed through it, almost breaking out into a run. “Yuuri!” he called. “Yuuri!”

Faces turned and looked at the madman shouting and pushing people aside. Someone muttered something to the person standing next to them. Others said words to him, but he couldn’t understand any of them. They put their arms on his shoulders, but he pushed them off.

The world darkened and tried to slip away.

“Yuuri!” he gave an anguished cry. A cry for everything he’d lost. “Yuuri!”

“Victor!” someone called.

A new energy flowed into him from he knew not where. He raised himself and ran in the direction the voice had come from.

There Yuuri was: alive and well with Vicchan in his hands. There Yuuri was. He was alright. He was alright and crying.

Victor felt his knees weaken under him, but he forced his feet to keep going.

“Yuuri!” Victor stopped in front of him, reaching out for the boy, but not daring to embrace him, as if afraid that he would vanish from a single touch, like a mirage made just to trick him or an illusion his grieving mind had created for him. “Yuuri! You’re alive! Where were you?”

“Vicchan got restless and wanted a walk, so I took him out. We got carried away and lost track of time. The battery in my phone died, so I didn’t even know how late it was and… What happened here?”

“Vicchan, thank you!” Victor reached out for the puppy and took him out of Yuuri’s arms to pet him affectionately.

Vicchan licked his face and barked happily.

“Someone started a fire on your floor,” Victor explained. He managed to get his thoughts in order at last. Yuuri was alright! He was fine! “They don’t know who or how, but I thought… I worried…” There was a lump in his throat, making it impossible to speak, so he stuck to petting Vicchan instead.

“How did this start?” Yuuri whispered. “How… It’s… It’s all gone! Everything… everything is gone! Everything I had… Everything…”

Victor raised his eyes and watched Yuuri’s eyes widen in horror.

“It’s all gone. All those things I … Your presents, my…” he swallowed.

“Yuuri –”

Yuuri looked at him. “I had the one you gave me for luck with me, though.” He gave a gentle laugh. “I guess that means it really works!” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to show Victor.

Victor lowered Vicchan and put his arms around Yuuri.

“It’s all gone…” Yuuri whispered.

“That doesn’t matter. You’re alright. That’s all that matters. We can get everything remade…” Victor whispered into Yuuri’s ear.

“The clothes you designed for me…” Yuuri went on.

Victor rubbed Yuuri’s back with his hand, feeling the boy tremble.

“Sir? Are you Yuuri Katsuki?”

Yuuri pulled away and turned around to face the policeman demanding to know his name.

“Yes.”

“You need to come with me for a couple of questions,” the man said.

“He’s in shock! His apartment just burned down!” Victor protested.

“I’ll be fine,” Yuuri reassured him.

The policeman eyed him and then Victor, whose arm had circled around Yuuri protectively. “Your fiancé needs to come too.”

“Fiancé?” Yuuri repeated and raised his eyebrows at Victor.

Victor coughed and released Yuuri. “I… I didn’t want to spend a lot of time explaining our relationship, so I told them you were my fiancé.”

“Perhaps you can explain the nature of your relationship properly this time,” the policeman added coldly.

They were led to a police car under the curious stares of the gathered crowd. Whispers went around as a new rumour was born.

Victor’s heart sank. He had a pretty good idea what the rumour would be.

He opened the door for Yuuri and then prepared to follow him in, but a policeman stepped in front of him.

“No. You will take the other car.”

Victor and Yuuri exchanged looks before Victor nodded and headed for the police car waiting for him.

They went to the police station separate from each other.

 

Yuuri was questioned first while Victor waited with Vicchan in his arms. He explained about his walk with Vicchan at the time of the fire as patiently as he could.

“What is the nature of your relationship with the man who called himself your fiancé?” one of the policemen questioning him asked.

Yuuri turned bright red and considered his next few words carefully. Victor had lied to the police and that couldn’t end well for him. “Look,” he began, “I can see why he called himself my fiancé. It’s not strictly true, but it’s not really a lie. You see, we’ve been going out for several months and a few weeks ago he invited me to live with him. I accepted this morning and was going to move in by the end of the week.”

The two policemen doing the questioning exchanged a look.

One of them frowned and then nodded.

Yuuri’s heart sank.

“Have you ever talked to the person who lived across the hall from you?” the other one asked.

 

_Yuuri’s phone rang and he picked it up to discover to his mild surprise that Chris was calling him. They hadn’t spoken to each other in several weeks and Yuuri wondered why he was calling so suddenly. A pang of guilt reminded him that he could’ve called earlier himself._

_“Hello, Chris! How are you doing?”_

_“Listen, Yuuri. I’m sorry that I don’t have time to catch up on old times. I need to tell you something very important.” He rushed through his words, as if afraid that any minute now he would be cut off, before he got the chance to tell Yuuri everything. “Do you remember a model named Chihoko who used to work for_ Runway _?”_

_“Used to?” So Victor had fired her, after all. Not that Yuuri ever doubted he would. “Yes, yes, I do,” Yuuri admitted, picturing the model as clearly as if she was standing right in front of him._

_“I found out today that she moved into your building. She lives on the same floor as you now.”_

_Yuuri, forgetting everything else for a moment and remembering only what he’d been trained to do, asked the kind of question he often asked in interviews. “How do you know this?”_

_“Someone who owes me a favour told me,” was Chris’s answer._

_That didn’t sound convincing enough for Yuuri, but he let that slide for the moment. There were more important things to worry about. “Why? What does she want with me? I mean: it can’t be a coincidence. I don’t live in the fashionable part of New York, so it’s not a popular spot for people to live in, by any means.”_

_“Listen,” Chris said, “I have no idea what she’s up to, but it can’t be good. Word here is that she stirred up a lot of trouble and only now that she’s gone are people admitting it.” He chuckled. “Nothing new there, of course.”_

_“Of course,” Yuuri echoed. “What do you suggest I do?”_

_“Be careful. Look, I know it sounds like no advice at all. But – I know that it’s New York and that affordable living space is harder to come by here than anywhere else – I suggest that you try to move somewhere else.”_

_“So she follows me there?” He had an odd image of a game of chase from one apartment to the next._

_“Well, that’s the trick, isn’t it? Find a spot she wouldn’t follow you to.”_

Like Victor’s apartment _, Yuuri thought. Funny how the suggestion presented itself so easily and Yuuri wondered if Chris had talked to Victor. No, he wouldn’t believe that Victor would ever confide in him: he rarely ever confided in anyone._

_“Alright. I’ll think about it. Thank you.”_

“Yes,” Yuuri admitted. “We used to work for the same boss: Victor Nikiforov, the editor of _Runway_ : the women’s fashion magazine.” He took a deep breath and added, “That’s him out there: waiting for me with my dog.”

He could see by the next look they exchanged that now they remembered the articles they’d read about the two of them.

Well, there was no use hiding anything now.

“I had an affair with him while he was my boss. Then we went our separate ways when I quit and now we’re back together again,” he admitted.

“And what does she have to do with any of this?” one of the policemen asked.

He could tell them everything: all the things he’d discovered about Victor’s past, but would they believe him? Would they believe his word when all the proof he’d collected had burned up in the fire?

He could find the proof all over again, he told himself.

So he told them everything. He even included his conversation with Victor when the editor told him he was going to fire her.

By the time he got to the end of his story he realized what must have happened. He also realized how the police would interpret his story.

The policemen put several photos on the table in front of him. All of them were of young women with long dark hair.

Yuuri pointed at the one he recognized. “That’s her. That’s Chihoko.”

“Is there anything else you remember?” one of the policemen asked.

He shook his head. That was it.

They asked to speak with Victor next.

 

When Victor came out of the room after his questioning he walked up to Yuuri. “It’s late. Come stay with me.”

Yuuri put his arms around Victor, buried his face in Victor’s shoulder and didn’t say anything.

How long had Victor waited for him? How long had he searched for him in that terrified crowd?

“Yes…” he said after a while.

He no longer had a home, a place to call his own. He didn’t have anything, in fact.

Vicchan got up on his hind legs and demanded his attention, as if he’d somehow heard Yuuri’s thoughts.

“You’re free to go,” one of the policemen said at last.

Yuuri raised his head, a question in his eyes that he didn’t dare ask aloud.

The policeman gave a heavy sigh. “All the evidence lines up to point at one culprit, really. Normally I wouldn’t be telling you this, but since it looks as if you are the intended victim…” The policeman looked at Yuuri and then at Victor. “This Chihoko set the building on fire. And now we know why: she did it to kill you.”

Victor’s arms tightened around Yuuri.

“Except she messed up and accidentally trapped herself in the fire.” The policeman gave a heavy sigh. Then he looked at the both of them. “This is to remain strictly between ourselves while the investigation is still ongoing. Neither of you is to make this public. Do you understand?”

Yuuri nodded.

They signed several forms and were allowed to leave.

Victor called his driver and they made their way to Victor’s apartment in silence. Already it was morning and the city was starting to wake up from a sleep it didn’t really have.

Yuuri’s mind went over his story and all the questions he’d been asked as he stared unseeingly out the window. The police had let them off so easily. Too easily. What proof did they have that it was Chihoko and not him who’d started the fire?

He knew himself to be innocent, but the instant they finished questioning him he knew what it must’ve looked like in their eyes: a young man goes out for a walk and the building he lives in burns down; he tells them of a woman that he knew was making his life and the life of his… Yuuri paused here, struggling for the right word… lover difficult, who followed him all this way, so he trapped her in there and killed her before she could do anything.

What proof did they have that made it obvious one way and not the other?

He realized Victor was talking to him and snapped out of his thoughts. “What? Sorry?” he asked, turning away from the window.

Victor smiled. “I said: you can take my room tonight and I’ll take the couch. I’ll get a bed for your room tomorrow.”

“No, no,” Yuuri protested. “I’ll take the couch!”

Victor looked ready to argue and Yuuri wondered if he himself dared to use the one argument that would let him win while at the same time break Victor’s heart.

“Alright,” Victor conceded at last.

“Thank you.”

Yuuri stared out the window. “Probably no point in bothering with sleep, anyway: I have work in a few hours.”

“Your apartment was on fire,” Victor reminded him. “I expect your boss will give you the day off.”

 _I remember a time when that wasn't enough of an argument for you._ Yuuri thought. “He might give me more than that… I don’t know what good the couch will do anyway: I doubt I’ll be able to sleep after everything that happened.”

To his great surprise, he could. The minute he saw the couch, he dropped onto it and fell into a deep sleep, ignoring everything else, not even caring that he was still in his clothes.

 

Victor paused in the doorway and threw a look at Yuuri’s sleeping form over his shoulder. After all the worries of the day, when he was sure his heart would give out, here Yuuri was – in his apartment, exactly where he wanted to see him, but in the completely wrong circumstances.

Yuuri had accepted of his free will earlier, but did it really count now?

And Yuuri refused to sleep in his room. He saw the look on the boy’s face and he knew why. He was afraid of the memories that would stir up.

Victor turned away.

Tomorrow he would have to convince Yuuri that he wanted to stay here, that his decision hadn’t been a mistake.


	13. Victor’s Apartment

Yuuri awoke, feeling the sunlight on his face and turned over. That blissful time of sleep when everything was forgotten, when all of life’s troubles were put temporarily on pause, was over.

He was on the couch in Victor’s apartment.

It was all real. It hadn’t been just a dream.

He lay under a blanket, staring unseeingly at the wall opposite as his mind went over the events of the night before.

He had to call his boss and tell him what happened.

_He probably already knows. After all, it must be all over the news by now. But I should call him anyway._

They’d come here late – no, early in the morning – at a time when usually they’d be heading out to work. Yuuri sat up, wondering what time it was now.

3 o’clock, his watch told him and there was no arguing with that.

In a panic he searched around for his phone only to discover that the dead battery was as dead as it had been the night before.

 The sound of footsteps made him turn just in time to see Victor enter the room.

“It really happened…” Yuuri said, as if some part of him still hoped to get a contradiction. As if he wanted – no, _expected_ – Victor to say that it had been nothing more than a bad dream, that Yuuri had stayed at his place overnight for some other reason.

Victor gave him a single nod. “I already spoke to your boss. He gave you the rest of the week off. I sent my assistant to find out if there was something that could be salvaged from the fire.” He paused and gave Yuuri a scrutinizing look. “I’m sorry,” he said after a while, “but it’s all gone.”

Yuuri pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs.

Victor lowered himself onto the couch next to him. “Listen, I –” he began.

Two dogs bounded into the room and suddenly both Vicchan and Makkachin were there, demanding his attention.

Yuuri tried to smile at them and found that he couldn’t. “What do I do now?” he asked quietly.

“There’s a lot of paperwork to do,” Victor told him.

Yuuri nodded numbly.

“But I’ll get someone else to take care of that.” He waved the paperwork off, as if it was a mere trifle. And it _was_ , for him, Yuuri remembered, thinking back to all the paperwork he’d had to deal with when he’d been Victor’s assistant. It wasn’t a pleasant memory that he hadn’t been ready for. “What I suggest,” Victor went on, apparently oblivious to the effect his words were having on Yuuri, “is that we go furniture shopping.”

“What?” He raised his face and met Victor’s eye.

Victor smiled. “You’ll need a new bed. We can also get you a desk, a new computer and anything else you might need. I suggest –”

Yuuri put his arms around Victor and buried his face in the man’s chest. He couldn’t help the shudder that passed through him or the tears that followed.

For a while neither of them said anything. He felt Victor’s hand on his back.

“Yuuri,” Victor murmured finally.

He released Victor and pulled away. “I’m sorry! I… Your clothes are wet!”

Victor pulled him back into his embrace. “You don’t need to apologize.”

Only then did it hit him just how terrified he was and just how much it meant to him that Victor was treating it like it was no big deal.

“It’s really no big deal,” Victor whispered into his ear.

 _I could’ve been there,_ Yuuri thought and shook at the thought of his close brush with death. _It could’ve been me in that fire. It was_ supposed _to be me in that fire. And now those people are dead because of me._

“I promise to protect you, no matter what happens.”

 _If they’d brought out my dead body, what would you have done?_ He raised his eyes and looked into Victor’s face.

And then he realized something else, something very obvious that he’d missed until then.

It was mid-afternoon and here Victor was, with him and not at work.

“I’m making you miss work,” Yuuri whispered, lowering his head again. “I’m sorry.”

Victor made an impatient sound. “I’ve been in a terrible mood all week, so working was impossible, anyway.” He hesitated before adding, “I want to spend the day with you. If you’re not in the mood for shopping, that’s fine. We can find something else to do.”

Yuuri pulled away and stood up. “No, you’re right. I need a distraction.” He crouched down to pet Vicchan. Makkachin tried to get his attention too and Yuuri did his best in splitting his attention between the two dogs.

“I also have…” Yuuri raised his eyes and watched Victor hesitate before saying the words that followed, “…some of your old clothes. You left them behind and I,” there was another pause before Victor concluded with, “kept them.”

Yuuri accepted with a nod. He had no choice now, but if there was one thing he was set on, it was that he would not be dressed like he’d been before. He would not be dressed like a doll.

It was time to gather all the self-control he had and face the world. He’d done it before. He could do it again.

And this time he wouldn’t have to do it alone.

He stepped into Victor’s closet and regretted everything. This was what he was so frightened of. This was why no force in the universe could make him enter Victor’s bedroom. This was worse than his apartment burning down. This was the main reason he’d hesitated before accepting Victor’s invitation to move in with him.

The memories hit him hard.

How many tender moments alone had they shared here? How many times had he told himself that he could endure anything while standing here and accepting a kiss from Victor?

He bit his lip and searched for the clothes Victor had referred to, determined to get out of here as soon as he could.

At least Victor wasn’t there to see the expression on his face and witness his pain.

And then he found the clothes and nothing was better, only worse. He dropped into a chair, fighting back the stinging in his eyes.

He thought he’d forgiven and moved on. But in here the pain felt so real, as if a copy of his slightly younger self was standing among these clothes, crying out for justice.

 _No, he’s not the same Victor. He’s changed. When I’m with him, he looks at me. He isn’t the same man who’d spent whole nights talking about work while…_ He blushed deeply at the memory.

It was no good.

He rushed out of the closet, hoping he would never have to return there.

_I have some money saved up in my account. I’ll wear this today and tomorrow I’ll buy something else. I don’t want to live on his charity._

Victor invited Yuuri to go eat in a restaurant afterwards and Yuuri accepted, happy to have found an excuse to get out of Victor’s apartment.

They spent the evening looking at furniture, but it was all in vain. Yuuri just couldn’t point at something and ask Victor to buy it for him.

By dinner he was seriously considering taking a hotel room, or even a room in a hostel. There was also Phichit’s apartment, but Yuuri had promised himself not to trouble his best friend unless he had no other choice.

He spent another night on the couch, but this time he barely slept, turning over and over, his mind full of all kinds of thoughts.

He was up as soon as the sun rose, on the phone with Yuri to find out how far the paperwork had come along only to take it off Yuri’s hands to do it all himself.

“Chris wants to talk to you,” Yuri suddenly announced and put Yuuri through to Chris’s phone before he could even say anything.

“Yuuri! How are you? What happened?” It felt so good to hear Chris’s voice that Yuuri found himself breaking down and crying a second time. He leaned against the wall and covered his face with one hand as the other held the phone to his ear.

Chris listened to all of the horrors sympathetically and asked Yuuri a million questions, except for a very specific one that he left until the very end.

“Where are you staying now?”

Yuuri told him. He couldn’t lie: Chris would find out eventually, there was no denying that.

“Do you need anything?” Chris asked, not commenting on Yuuri’s answer.

He could ask to stay with Chris while he figured out what to do next. Chris wouldn’t mind, he was sure of it.

 _But he married recently,_ Yuuri remembered. _Will he_ really _want me around and in the way?_

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine,” he lied.

“Then call me, if you think of something.” Chris chuckled quietly. “You should’ve seen our Yuri yesterday morning. He’s been worried sick about you.”

“Really?”

“Don’t forget us, Yuuri,” Chris went on. “We’re all glad to help in any way that we can. That goes for Yuri as well, no matter what he says.”

“Can you…” Yuuri stopped, but it was too late: the words had already slipped out.

“Probably, but only if you tell me what it is.”

 “I need furniture. Can you lend me some money?” Yuuri asked after making a great effort to get the words out. “I-I’ll pay it all back, I promise.” He was very aware of how it sounded: the promise from someone who had next to nothing to their name.

Chris chuckled. “I’ll do something even better. I have some extra furniture I can give you. What do you need?”

Here it was. He felt the blush rise to his cheeks. “A bed.” What would Chris say to that? He was staying with Victor and still he was asking for his own bed.

“As it happens,” Chris replied, as if the request had been perfectly natural, “I have a spare one. We put it in our guest room, but you can have it.”

Yuuri prepared to argue, but Chris interrupted with, “Think of it as borrowing. You can return it later.” There was just the smallest of pauses and then, “When you buy your own.”

“Thank you.”

Chris also promised him a desk and chairs and then Yuuri had to make more calls to arrange for everything to be delivered to Victor’s apartment.

He had a room of his own now. That evening he attacked the paperwork and then pretended he was still doing it for the two days that followed.

He called different people, talked to his boss and managed to arrange things so that two days later he was back at work, as if nothing had happened. But his troubles followed him there.

 

The moment he stepped into the office everyone stopped whatever they were doing, raised their heads and watched him walk over to his desk as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. He went on as if it was just another day, determined not to let them unnerve him.

And then he saw the newspaper article on his desk.

Everyone was sworn to secrecy and promised not to say a word about the investigation, so, it was only natural that someone had leaked the details to the press.

 _Mad Ex-Lover Attempts to Murder Victor Nikiforov’s Current Lover_ – the headline read.

He suppressed a sigh, set the newspaper aside and dropped into his seat.

The spell broke and everyone returned to their work.

He’d seen worse headlines. Between the paperwork and the move he’d spent a few hours each day reading what people thought they knew about him, Victor and Chihoko.

She was mad. It didn’t take long to prove that. Apart from her mania over Victor, there was her private blog, the stories her neighbours told (there was no “it’s always the quiet ones” this time) and her internet history. The evidence just piled up. Not to mention the definitely not glowing reference that everyone who worked with her gave her.

Yuuri wasn’t worried that they suspected him now. No one called him. The police didn’t trouble him at all.

But people avoided him at work, saying nothing and throwing looks at him that he couldn’t understand.

At lunchtime one of the journalists walked up to him and sat down casually on his desk with his arms crossed. “These days it seems that we don’t have to go out there and look for stories, we just have to watch you.”

“Is that what you will do from now on?” Yuuri asked. “Follow me around?”

There was a short pause while everyone tried to work out if Yuuri was serious or joking.

Yuuri smiled.

The man burst out laughing. “So tell us: what happened? Really? This crazy lady follow you around everywhere, or what?”

They all gathered around the two of them to listen.

“I can’t,” Yuuri said. “I told them I wouldn’t tell anyone any of the details of the investigation. Besides,” he went on, taking in the disappointed faces, “I’m in a room full of reporters.”

They tried to get more out of him, but he refused to be dissuaded.

That evening he returned to Victor’s apartment knowing there was still one important thing he needed to sort out. But, instead, he locked himself away on his room, acting as if he had a lot to do.

How long could he avoid Victor for before it got really ridiculous? He was well on his way to finding out.

 

Victor couldn’t sleep. It was that time between night and morning and his mind wouldn’t give him a rest. It kept turning the events of the last few days over and over in his head, trying to look at them this way and that.

Yuuri was avoiding him, he knew. He wondered why. Had he done something wrong? Would he ever find out what it was? But, more importantly, would he be able to make up for it?

There would be no sleeping that night, so he got up and tried to distract himself with work, but even there he was having no luck.

His mind refused to come up with any designs whatsoever and he found himself instead sketching a handsome young man with dark hair. There was a sad look on the young man’s face that Victor had grown accustomed to seeing.

Yuuri was in the next room and, yet, now he felt further away than ever.

How many lunches had he avoided? How many dinners?

One morning Victor tried to surprise him with breakfast, only to discover, to his own surprise, that Yuuri had already left.

“Can’t sleep?” a voice asked quietly and Victor put a hand over the paper with Yuuri’s picture.

“No,” he said, not raising his eyes. “Thought I’d get some work in.”

Yuuri put a cup in front of him and Victor became conscious of the delicious aroma of coffee.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” Yuuri admitted, leaning against the table. “So I made us some coffee.” He drank a little from his cup. “I’m sorry, Victor, but I don’t think living together is a good idea.”

He’d said it. He didn’t think Yuuri would, but he did and there it was: all laid out in the open. There would be no more pretending from now on.

He wished he could say something, convince Yuuri in some way to change his mind, but there was that look on Yuuri’s face that made it impossible to argue.

“Every room here is full of memories,” Yuuri whispered, “even this one.”

He remembered that morning when Yuuri had slipped in, wearing nothing more than Victor’s shirt and how Lilia had accidentally walked in on them.

“I went to the kitchen to make breakfast yesterday and …”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence: Victor understood him perfectly.

Yuuri drank another sip and set his cup down on the table.

It took a lot of will to reach out for Yuuri’s hands, but somehow he did it. “We’ll move to a different apartment,” Victor offered. “We can live on the other side of the city. We can move anywhere you want.”

Yuuri closed his eyes.

Victor raised one of Yuuri’s hands to his lips.

_He’s going to say it, isn’t he? It’s not the place’s fault. It’s mine. How can I become someone else? Because right now I’d rather be anyone but me._

Yuuri pulled his hands free and Victor held his breath, waiting for the words that were bound to follow.

But Yuuri didn’t say anything. He reached out with both hands and pulled them through Victor’s hair.

He leaned against one hand, closing his eyes and hoping with his whole heart that Yuuri wouldn’t let him go.

“If your apartment was still there, I’d ask to move in with you,” Victor told him.

“You’d give up your penthouse suite for me?” Yuuri leaned in close and Victor didn’t dare open his eyes.

“In a heartbeat.”

He could feel Yuuri’s breath on his face now.

“Does that mean you’re willing to do anything I ask for?” Yuuri asked.

“I am,” he confirmed.

Yuuri’s nose touched Victor’s cheek. “Will you take the bad memories away?”

“I will do more than that,” Victor promised, feeling his heart beat faster in his chest, “I will create a million good memories to take the place of the bad ones.”

Yuuri pressed his lips against Victor’s, as if to seal the promise. He moved away and Victor opened his eyes. The boy was sitting on his desk now, illuminated only by the soft light of the lamp on Victor’s table. He was in a striped pajama he bought for himself recently. The pants were just a little too short for him, exposing his ankles.

Yuuri was here in Victor’s apartment and living with him. More than that: he was right in front of him.

It must’ve been the lateness of the hour, or maybe it was fatigue kicking in after all. Whatever the reason, Victor lowered his head and planted a kiss on Yuuri’s right knee.

“V-Victor!”

And then his other one.

Yuuri shifted back and forth on the table. Would Victor dare to do more?

He watched the blood rush to the boy’s face and tried to interpret the look on his face. There was fear there along with something else, but Victor saw him glance at the door and backed off.

He waited for Yuuri to get up and leave. He waited for some kind of indignant exclamation, followed by the promise to move out tomorrow.

Yuuri shifted closer to Victor. “You promised you’d dance with me,” he reminded Victor in a whisper.

“I will be happy to,” Victor told him.

Emboldened by the fact that Yuuri didn’t push him away or leave the room, Victor raised one of Yuuri’s feet and planted a kiss on it on the spot where the pajama pants ended.

He rose to his feet and held his hands out to Yuuri, who joined him with a smile.

What would they do for music?

Yuuri answered that one by pulling out his phone and picking a song for them to dance to.

It didn’t matter how late it was, or that they both had work later that morning. All of that was just detail.

Victor spun Yuuri around and the boy laughed. There was that excitement again and joy. He smiled, following Yuuri’s steps.

It must’ve been an odd sight: the editor of a fashion magazine in the bare minimum of clothes, the top few buttons of his shirt undone, and a reporter for a news magazine in his pajamas swing dancing in the early hours of the morning.

It was madness, of course, but neither of them thought of it that way.

When the sun rose they both knew that they had to return to ordinary life.

 _One more minute_ , Victor thought.

They both leaned in for a kiss and poured into it everything they couldn’t say in words. Victor closed his eyes, letting Yuuri decide when he wanted to stop.

“Time for breakfast, I think,” Yuuri said, pulling away.

“Let’s go to our favourite place,” Victor offered, his arms still around Yuuri.

“Yes.”

 

The rest of the day dragged on for too long. Victor wanted to be home, to be back with Yuuri, but the hours crawled by, with no consideration for his wishes.

When he finally did get back he found Yuuri had passed out on the couch.

Coming back felt different now. If before he was always greeted by Makkachin, now there was also Vicchan, but it was more than that: now he came home, knowing there was a person waiting there for him. He realized that for the first time in his life he really thought of his apartment as home.

He put a blanket over Yuuri and dropped into a chair to wait for him to wake up.

Yuuri slept with a smile on his lips, making the editor wonder what he dreamt about. After an hour or so he turned over to face the couch and slept on.

Victor was starting to get hungry. Makkachin and Vicchan, meanwhile, were giving the door a look. His body got up and took the dogs outside for a walk while his mind remained inside with Yuuri.

When he returned Yuuri was sitting on the couch, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Both dogs bounded to him, barking excitedly and jumping up to lick his face.

Yuuri laughed and then stood up. Victor hurried to greet him, his arms spread out.

“I missed you,” they whispered to each other.

 

It was easier after that. Yuuri didn’t lock himself away. He still avoided some rooms and was uneasy when he entered the kitchen, but one morning Victor discovered him there, cooking breakfast.

He asked Yuuri how his days went, curious to hear all the details, but didn’t talk about his own job. When Yuuri repeated the questions back at Victor, he came up with short vague answers, all too aware that he was trying to avoid details as much as possible.

But there was one crucial detail he couldn’t avoid. Not when he was starting to stay longer and longer at work.

 

He came home late that day, feeling completely drained of energy. After 12 hours of work, the last 2 of which he’d spent arguing, he was ready to collapse.

His key clicked in the lock, but the door swung open before he could raise his hand to it.

And there he was – the love of his life, smiling widely and welcoming him home like people did in the movies.

The smell of something delicious hit his nostrils and he forgot about his fatigue.

“I was starting to think I should call you,” Yuuri said and pecked Victor on the cheek.

He flushed, turned away and mumbled something incoherent.

Victor crouched down to greet Makkachin and Vicchan to hide his embarrassment.

“I made you dinner,” Yuuri said, his voice still shaking. “I needed something to do while I was waiting for you and…” He turned around and Victor saw that his eyes were wet. “I was starting to worry…”

Victor rose to his feet, stepped up to Yuuri and caught him in an embrace. “I missed you too.”

Yuuri led the way into the kitchen. The table there was set for two with different dishes taking up most of the available space. Victor raised his eyes and saw the sheepish smile on the boy’s face.

“I got a little carried away,” he admitted.

It was the most delicious meal in Victor’s life. And this time Victor made sure to tell Yuuri as much.

Afterwards he let Yuuri decide what they wanted to do.

He imagined how it must’ve been, sitting in the empty apartment, waiting for Victor to come home and wondering what was taking him so long and wished he wasn’t about to make the boy angry with him.

 

Yuuri hadn’t enjoyed the wait. All kinds of unpleasant thoughts filled his brain as he paced the living room nervously. He’d left work early and rushed to Victor’s apartment, his heart hammering like mad in his chest as he thought back to the way Victor’s eyes gleamed when he planted kisses on Yuuri’s feet.

They’d spent several evenings dancing away. They’d discovered that they didn’t need a fancy bar to dance in: Victor’s living room was just fine.

And they were enjoying the kind of intimacy they’d never experienced before. Victor was still hiding some of his feelings, but Yuuri was learning to understand him. After one night pacing his room, for example, Yuuri learned how much it irritated Victor and made sure to never do it again. They spent many evenings in a comfortable silence when they didn’t need words to know what the other person was thinking.

But they still avoided two topics. One was related to sleeping and bedrooms and the second was Victor’s job. This one he avoided himself.

Yuuri, seeing how much he didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t push the subject. He wasn’t sure how he would react himself if Victor started to talk about his work the same way that he, that is, Yuuri, did.

And, yet, a part of him wanted to ask how everyone else was doing.

That evening Victor came home exhausted. Yuuri could see it in his face. He did his best to make it easier for him, but he couldn’t do something that would compensate for a night of missed sleep.

Victor ate a bit of every dish Yuuri made and complimented him on his cooking. Yuuri accepted the compliments as best as he could and waited for Victor to get up and tell him he was too tired to do anything, but Victor stayed.

“Would you like me to make you some coffee?” Yuuri offered.

“You really don’t have to,” Victor told him.

Yuuri shifted closer to him and looked into Victor’s face. “Is something wrong?”

“Not really. It’s just that… I need to,” he paused, as if debating which word to say next, “go away for a week.” Victor stared down at his hands, as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

“Where are you going?”

“St. Petersburg.”

Yuuri remembered then that Victor always took a holiday sometime in November. He remembered how last year around this time his flight had gotten cancelled and how it had almost cost him his own job. Would there be another victim this time if a storm hit New York again?

He needed to say something. But what? After a minute of desperate thinking he had it:

“Will you go visit your family?”

“No.” Victor was avoiding looking at him, Yuuri was sure of it.

“I was invited,” Victor said slowly, as if this was a formal occasion that required a solemn speech and he had to weigh every word before saying it, “to a fashion show focused on showcasing Russian designers.” The corners of his lips rose in a smile that had no mirth in it. “It seems I can’t ignore my heritage.”

 _Why is he talking about it as if he was invited to a funeral? It’s a fashion show. Shouldn’t he be happy?_ He waited to hear what the catch would be, watching every expression that crossed Victor’s face.

“I was thinking… that is, if you don’t mind…” He rose to his feet. “No, I imagine not,” he said at last.

“Are you deciding for me?” Yuuri asked.

Victor stopped in the doorway and asked, without turning to face Yuuri. “Will you go with me?”

He thought back to a different lifetime when Victor had asked him to accompany him to a horse race. _So would I go as your date or as your assistant?_

Yuuri rose to his feet and walked up to Victor. He reached out for the man and hesitated.

“You don’t have to,” Victor said quietly, “but if you do, I’ll get you a separate room.”

“Victor,” Yuuri said softly, “my passport burned in that fire.”

“But you’ll get a new one soon,” Victor reminded him, still not meeting Yuuri’s eye.

Yuuri walked around and took Victor’s face in his hands. “Do you want me to come?” he offered.

Victor nodded.

“And stay in the same room as you?”

Victor said the next words, as if he was admitting that he was guilty of some crime, “I don’t want to be separated from you, but are you alright with that?”

“I want to go as your date,” Yuuri whispered back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea how many people noticed this: but there are 2 chapters left! (Unless I come up with a third one) I'm so excited! I've been writing this AU since last April!


	14. A Fashion Designer’s Date

Victor’s apartment in St. Petersburg was in a building with an imperial façade that made it look like it had once been a palace. The rooms were big with high ceilings and big doorways. As they went up the stairs, a man carrying their luggage behind them, Victor explained that a member of the aristocracy had lived here once and that, as far as he knew, they weren’t related to him. Yuuri threw curious looks at the paintings on the walls in gold frames. There was a chandelier hanging down from the ceiling, little bits of glass glittering in the light.

As they went all the way up Victor apologized that there was no elevator and then pulled an old key out of his pocket. “To be honest, I’m a little old-fashioned so I can’t help but have a soft spot for this place and its little… oddities.” He smiled at Yuuri and unlocked the door.

Inside the furniture looked like the kind that was around a century ago at least, but it all looked brand new and barely used, suggesting that none of it was really that old. It compensated for that by being very grand and – if Yuuri was any judge – very, very expensive.

Victor gave him the tour. It was by no means a serious one and consisted mostly of jokes.

The apartment (if such a word could be used to describe the place) had several bedrooms, making Yuuri wonder who else lived here. Or were they always empty?

It was a sad thought and was followed by the image of Victor all alone in these rooms, which only made him sadder.

“Well?” Victor asked once he was done. “What do you think?”

Yuuri couldn’t help thinking that he sounded as if he was trying to sell the place. Normally this would’ve made him laugh, but instead it only made him sadder.

It hadn’t been easy to arrange this trip: he had to get a new passport, for a start. And then he had to get permission to take time off. What he got instead was an assignment for his time in St. Petersburg.

The assignment meant that once Yuuri got settled down in his room he pulled out his phone and called different people to arrange the rest of his day.

He longed to go out there and explore the city, but knew it wasn’t going to happen.

And so, instead of relaxing after his long flight, instead of spending time with Victor, Yuuri had to work.

He found Victor sprawled out on the couch with a book in his hands. “Ah, Yuuri! How do you feel about a little trip?”

 _It sounds wonderful._ Yuuri shook his head. “I’m sorry, Victor, but I can’t. I have work to do.”

“You do?” Victor rose from the couch, placed his book on a table and took Yuuri’s hands in both of his own. “Do you need to do it now?”

“I want to get as much as I can out of the way,” Yuuri explained.

Victor nodded and released him. He returned to the couch and his book.

 _I’m sorry I upset you_ , Yuuri thought. _I promise to spend more time with you tomorrow._

He turned to go, changed his mind and walked back to plant a kiss on Victor’s forehead. “I’ll do my best to get back soon,” he promised.

Victor smiled at him.

Yuuri walked away, stopping only to throw another look at Victor as soon as he reached the doorway.

Victor sat with his head lowered, his eyes fixed on the book. He looked so lonely that it hurt just to look at him.

And it hurt even more to look away and leave.

 

Yuuri was gone all day long. Victor waited patiently for him. When he got tired of his book he tried to find another way to pass the time. But nothing helped. Yuuri was somewhere out there. He didn’t know where exactly, but what was more important was that he wasn’t here.

He tried to find some way to entertain himself, but no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried to focus, he couldn’t stick with it for very long.

Each little noise made him turn to the door, expecting to see Yuuri come in.

The sky outside grew dark and the stars came out and still Yuuri didn’t return. Night crept in and still Yuuri wasn’t there.

_Just fifteen more minutes. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes._

What if he got lost? What if he was stuck somewhere out there, all alone and with no way of getting back?

He picked up his phone from the table and considered calling him.

 _I’ll wait another five minutes. Just five more and then I’ll call. I will absolutely call._ He put it back down again and watched the clock count away the minutes as they passed by.

Three minutes. Four…

Unable to stand it any longer, he picked his phone up again and…

…and Yuuri walked into the room.

Victor rushed to him, but instead of embracing him or taking his hands, he stopped in front of him with a smile. “I missed you.”

“Sorry I took so long. What did you do while I was gone?” he asked.

Yuuri was still in his coat. There was snow on his shoulders and a bit in his hair. Victor resisted the urge to brush it off.

There was a look on Yuuri’s face that was partway between expectant and surprised.

 _Oh right! He asked me a question! What was it again?_ “I was waiting for you,” he replied and hated himself for how it sounded.

Yuuri took Victor’s face in his hands. “Did you eat?”

“No,” Victor admitted and was struck by the sudden realization of just how hungry he was.

“Take me somewhere for dinner,” Yuuri said. And winked.

Afterwards Victor told himself that he must’ve imagined it, that there was just no way that Yuuri could have winked at him. No way at all.

 

_“Beware the eyes that are always watching…”_

He could feel someone staring at him and that, combined with the words he’d just read, was sending shivers down his spine.

Victor looked up from his book to see Yuuri standing in the doorway. The young man was in his pajamas, fiddling with one of the buttons.

“Is something wrong?” Victor set the book aside. He was having trouble sleeping himself and was reading now in the hopes that it would help.

Yuuri’s mouth opened and closed, as if he wasn’t sure how to pose his question. “Can I sleep here?” he finally asked.

Victor picked up his book again, using it as a way to hide his face. “If you want.” He shifted over to one side of the bed.

He wasn’t ready for this. After dinner in his favourite restaurant, after two measly hours during which he tried to make up for the time they’d lost, they’d returned only to separate again. When they said goodnight he didn’t think Yuuri would come to him in the middle of the night like this.

He kept his eyes focused on the book, as if he was just reading calmly and not panicking. He wasn’t panicking. Not at all.

Yuuri slipped under the blanket next to him and he did his best not to think about it. No, he was going to enjoy his very interesting book about…

He couldn’t remember what the book was about.

He realized then that for the past few minutes his eyes had been going over the words on the page without understanding a single one.

“What are you reading?” Yuuri asked.

Was that an invitation? Was he supposed to flatter Yuuri, toss the book aside and flirt?

He raised his head and smiled at Yuuri. “Nothing exciting. Just thought it would help me sleep.”

Yuuri lay on his stomach, his head turned to face Victor. “I’m so exhausted, but for some reason I can’t sleep at all.”

Victor set the book aside and shifted closer to Yuuri. Only a little bit. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to sleep better here,” he said softly and reached out to place one hand on Yuuri’s head.

“Mmm…” Yuuri closed his eyes.

He certainly looked tired.

Victor’s hands, not bothering to wait for his brain to give them proper instructions, somehow both ended up on Yuuri’s back, both resting just over Yuuri’s shoulder blades. They slid down over the fabric of the boy’s pajamas and Victor watched, as if they weren’t his hands, but someone else’s. He waited for Yuuri to say something, ready to snatch them away at the first hint that he didn’t want Victor to touch him.

Yuuri’s eyes were still closed. He remained silent.

He was almost at the small of Yuuri’s back when he stopped, hesitated and slid his hands back the way they’d come.

Yuuri made a soft sound Victor hadn’t been prepared for.

He snatched his hands away and edged to the other side of the bed.

Yuuri turned over and sat up.

They stared at each other in silence as an eternity went by unnoticed.

Yuuri unbuttoned the shirt of his pajama and tossed it aside. He then reached out for Victor’s hands and smiled as he took both of them in his. “Do that again,” he whispered.

Victor nodded. His lips were dry. He didn’t know what to say, so he watched Yuuri lie back down in silence and, after some hesitation, reached out for him.

His thumbs traced out two lines over Yuuri’s back, and then slowly returned to Yuuri’s upper back. Victor’s heart beat faster as he took in every inch of skin with his eyes.

“More…” Yuuri pleaded in a broken voice.

Victor trailed one index finger. All of him was shaking.

There was nothing for it, but to go all the way now.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against the middle of Yuuri’s back.

Yuuri gave a quiet sigh.

Victor’s heart was ready to burst now. He raised his head, shifted a little closer on the bed and bent over Yuuri, placing his hands on the bed on alternate sides of him, and planted a kiss on one shoulder blade and then on the other.

Would he dare touch Yuuri again?

He felt like a man tottering on the edge, ready to plunge to his death. He sat up. He didn’t dare do anything more after that.

Yuuri turned over and looked up at him. “Turn the light off,” he whispered.

Victor obeyed without question. What else could he do?

There was a short silence and then Yuuri’s voice broke it at last: “Come here.”

Victor lay down and edged towards Yuuri. He turned onto his side, trying to see Yuuri in the dark, but he couldn’t even make out his outline.

“I’m right here,” Yuuri whispered.

Victor stopped mere inches away. He reached out and placed a hand on Yuuri’s chest.

Yuuri placed both of his own over it, as if to prevent Victor from pulling it away.

Victor shifted his head a little closer until it touched Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Sleep,” Yuuri whispered. “No staying up this time, just sleep.”

“Will you protect me from bad dreams?” Even he wasn’t sure if he was serious or joking.

“Yes,” Yuuri promised.

 

Victor awoke and Yuuri was there, asleep by his side. Where he belonged.

He slid one hand just above Yuuri’s cheek, imagining he was touching him, but not daring to actually do it.

The boy slept on, oblivious to the turmoil in Victor’s mind.

Had there really been a time when he and Yuuri got into bed as if it was the most natural thing in the world? Had they really ever made love to each other? And how did Victor ignore Yuuri all those times he was on top of him?

Each inch of Yuuri was so dear to Victor, from his gentle smile to his dark eyelashes, to…

Victor turned away and climbed out of bed.

For the first time in a long while he felt well-rested and full of energy. Somehow Yuuri’s presence had really helped him.

He was ready for the big event.

 

Someone had decided it would be a good idea to experiment a little with the usual format of a fashion show and, so, instead of a catwalk and seats for the audience, everyone got to stand around while models walked among the crowd, demonstrating each piece. Every half hour the models left to be replaced by other ones (since the designers had been adamant that they were allowed to choose who would showcase their work) and someone would announce the name of the next designer over the speakers.

Yuuri stood by Victor’s side, watching without a word.  The lights in the room were dimmed, apart from those trained on the models, which followed their progress around the room. Mellow music played and chandeliers sparkled above them as they caught the light.

The organizers encouraged themes that were inspired by Russia’s history and Victor had spent a long time trying to settle on a specific idea. He’d gotten his assistants to give him a brief summary of Russia’s history. They came up with a two hour presentation on the history of Russian fashion instead.

Still, he managed to think of something.

The crowd exchanged whispers at the sight of each new piece. But this wasn’t his collection. Not yet.

He felt Yuuri’s hand slip around the crook of his arm and turned to smile at the boy.

Yuuri was in something Victor had designed for the occasion. The jacket was embroidered with detail that was echoed in his own. When they stood side by side it looked like the vines on Yuuri’s jacket were reaching out to curve around Victor. Yuuri hadn’t said anything about the jacket and Victor wondered if he liked it at all.

In fact, when he accepted the jacket something about Yuuri’s expression suggested that he’d expected to get it. Was it Victor’s imagination or was there a hint of resignation in Yuuri’s voice?

He made a mental note to find out Yuuri’s opinion about his collection and turned to watch the show.

 

Yuuri watched the display of rich fabrics, diamonds, gold and silver on models who moved with the grace and confidence of monarchs.

 _What am I doing here?_ He wondered. _I’m here for Victor, sure, but what am I really doing? I can’t remember the last time I felt so out of place!_

He clung on to Victor as if expecting that that would help him feel more needed. Maybe Victor felt Yuuri’s discomfort (it wouldn’t have surprised Yuuri, if this was true: after all, he couldn’t deny the fact that Victor had gotten better at reading him _and paying attention to him_ ), maybe it was just a coincidence, but – whatever the reason – Victor stepped closer and whispered into his ear.

“This collection is by a man I met once. He had the worst manners imaginable!” He dropped his voice further as he dropped scandalous details into Yuuri’s ear and Yuuri found himself stepping closer to hear him better.

He ended his story with, “Can you believe it?”

Yuuri couldn’t help the giggle that escaped his lips. He clapped a hand over his mouth as the people around him turned to see who it was who’d found fashion so amusing.

He apologized and they turned away.

Victor was really close now. His shoulder touched Yuuri’s ever so gently, as if Victor was about to lean into him. There was that smell that Yuuri always associated with Victor and which came with a whole pile of memories. The cologne Victor used always hit him just when they got really close.

He realized he wasn’t watching the fashion show at all. If asked about it, he would’ve been completely unable to give an account of what was presented there or even who. He only had eyes for one person in the room.

There was that old feeling again, the naïve love that had taken root in his heart and refused to let go. Just when he thought he saw things in a more rational light, just when he thought he had some control over his feelings, up it popped again and he knew that he would’ve died in that fire if Victor’s life had somehow depended on it.

“Victor Nikiforov!” the announcer’s voice boomed through the room, startling Yuuri.

He looked around like someone who’d fallen asleep in a public place and then woke up, embarrassed of his little slip.

Victor clutched his hand tightly. “Here they come!” he announced.

The first model appeared in front of them and Yuuri watched her long gown trail behind her as she walked slowly and majestically.

The room went silent and Yuuri became convinced that they were all stunned by the sight. _He_ was.

The dress was a gentle pastel pink, that probably had a name all of its own that Yuuri couldn’t remember at the moment. The model’s shoulders were wrapped in a light shawl. Jewelry twinkled like stars in her hair.

“A new dawn approaches,” Victor whispered into his ear. “A new beginning. Everything changes and there’s new hope for the future that had seemed so bleak before.”

Yuuri turned to look at him.

Victor gave him a tender smile.

“And then what?” Yuuri whispered back.

“The dawn doesn’t come easily. And at first no one recognizes it for what it is,” Victor continued. “There is a lot of resistance and clinging to old ways.”

Yuuri watched Victor’s face, once again turning away from the models. Victor was becoming more animated as he went on. This was his greatest passion in life. A person who knew nothing about him would see it clearly in that moment. He’d poured a great deal of effort and thought into every aspect of the collection he presented here: from the colours and the types of fabrics used all the way to the order in which the models walked out.

“There was a Tsar,” he explained, “who wanted the best for his country. He didn’t let the fact that he was a Tsar stop him from learning all that he could to help his people.” He smiled at Yuuri and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “And he was very lucky that he had people by his side to help him get through all the hardships that came his way. They had faith in him even when he didn’t.”

Yuuri remained silent, waiting to hear the rest, but Victor stopped there. “What happened to the Tsar in the end?” he asked once it became obvious that Victor wasn’t going to finish his story.

“What happens to anyone who is just a human being,” Victor looked away, as if remembering that he was there to watch his models and not give a history lesson. “He died eventually, of course, but history remembered his name. He made sure of that.”

The models left and a polite applause filled the room. All the lights turned to focus on Victor and Yuuri moved to step away, but Victor held him in place.

He turned and gave the crowd a smile.

And the show moved on to the next designer.

 

Evening descended on St. Petersburg. They ate in a little café in a small street that branched off Nevsky Prospect and returned to Victor’s apartment, hand in hand. In fact, they’d held hands the whole ride back.

But the moment they stepped through the doorway they let each other go.

Claiming he had some work to do, Victor slipped away into one of the office-like rooms, turned on his laptop and went through his emails. He read messages that he’d usually forward to his assistants to deal with. He even read a few that normally would get discarded to the trash without a second glance.

But work wasn’t enough of a distraction for Victor to stop thinking about one very important question: where would Yuuri sleep this time?

He delayed going to sleep for as long as he could. After two hours of emails and time wasted on other meaningless tasks he had to admit to himself that he wasn’t getting anything useful done at all.

He took his time putting everything away, got up and went to his bedroom with the kind of finality as if he was about to lie down in a grave and not his own bed.

But his bed wasn’t empty: Yuuri sat in it, his back propped up by a pillow as he read something on his phone. At the sight of him Victor froze in the doorway.

Yuuri raised his head and smiled. “I hope this is okay,” he said.

“Of course it is. Treat this like your own house,” Victor told him, unbuttoning his shirt.

Yuuri slipped out of the bed and took Victor’s hand. “But what do _you_ want?” he asked softly.

“Whatever you want,” Victor told him.

Yuuri shook his head. “I don’t accept an answer like that.”

“Then what should I say?” Victor asked with just the hint of a smile.

“Hmm…” Yuuri considered and took Victor’s shirt out of his hands and draped it over a chair.

Victor removed his pants and watched Yuuri put them away as well. “I think…” he began. “I want another good night’s sleep.”

Yuuri smiled and returned to the bed. “I’ll do my best.”

This time when Victor joined Yuuri under the blankets Yuuri turned onto his side. Realizing what Yuuri was suggesting, Victor copied his position and moved closer until his stomach was almost touching Yuuri’s back. Almost.

Victor raised a hand hesitantly, swallowed and lowered it onto Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri took Victor’s hand with both of his and brought it close to his chest, gripping it tighter.

“Good night,” he whispered.

“Good night.” It took even more courage to plant a kiss on Yuuri’s shoulder, but somehow he managed it.

They lay in the dark next to each other, their bodies just barely touching.

 _What if I move in my sleep? What if I accidentally wake him up? What then?_ All sorts of questions drifted into his mind, determined to keep him awake.

“What are you worrying about?” Yuuri whispered.

“Tomorrow,” Victor lied.

Yuuri shifted closer. “Everything will be fine,” he said.

He wasn’t sure why, but he believed him.

 

Morning came and Victor’s face was pressed into Yuuri’s back, his arms tangled around him. Yuuri was surprised to see in the past few days that Victor acted as if he was scared to touch him. As a result, every little touch had Yuuri wishing for more.

He closed his eyes, enjoying how wonderful it felt to be tangled up like this. He really missed this.

Victor stirred and Yuuri gripped his hands before he could move them away.

“Yuuri…” Victor whispered.

“Good morning.” Yuuri brought Victor’s hands to his face and kissed them.

He clung on, not letting Victor leave until he was ready to release him.

But finally his conscience told him that enough was enough and that Victor should be free to do whatever he liked, which included getting up, unfortunately.

Yuuri released Victor and sat up. Victor propped his head up and they exchanged a smile.

“We should probably get up,” Yuuri suggested gently.

“Do we have to?”

Yuuri laughed. “Do you want to stay here for the rest of the day? And miss the second day of the fashion show?”

Victor sat up. Yuuri watched the struggle in his face, curious to see which would win in the end.

“I need to go,” Victor said at last. “You don’t have to come with me, if you don’t want to.”

 _And if I don’t go, what then? Do I just stay here and wait for you to return? …Like you waited for me, doing nothing and going nowhere._ “I want to come with you,” Yuuri told him. He took Victor’s hand and rubbed it between his hands. “I don’t really care where we go, as long as we can be together.”

“Me too,” Victor admitted.

Yuuri released him and watched Victor get off the bed.

 

When Victor returned from the bathroom Yuuri was sitting on the bed, scrolling through something on his phone.

“I’m reading the media coverage for last night,” Yuuri explained without raising his head.

Victor wondered what brought this on all of a sudden. He sat down on his side of the bed. “Anything interesting?”

Yuuri shifted to a position closer to him. “Not really. They’re calling your work a classic.”

“A bit early to do that,” Victor pointed out, moving towards Yuuri on the bed.

“ _Mr. Nikiforov has demonstrated once again why his name is one of the big ones in the world of fashion,_ ” Yuuri read.

Victor was sitting next to him, looking down at Yuuri’s phone over his shoulder.

“ _By mixing simple elements he gave us several works of art._ ” He heard the breath catch in Yuuri’s throat as he kissed the boy’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around him. “ _We are lucky to live in the same decade as him, to be able to see each new piece appear for the first time._ ”

“They’re really laying the flattery on thick,” Victor murmured. “And it’s the magazine that usually finds every single fault it can just so they can rub it in my face.” He kissed Yuuri’s cheek.

Yuuri read more of the article aloud as Victor whispered his comments into his ear, mocking each line. When the author compared Victor to authors of old classics and the old art masters Victor muttered, “If he’s about to suggest that someone puts me in a museum, I don’t want to hear it.” Yuuri merely smiled.

“ _The collection we saw was like a new dawn and I’m sure I speak for the whole world of fashion when I say that we’re looking forward to seeing what he designs next._ ”

“I wish you’d been the one to write this article,” Victor admitted once Yuuri got to the end. “You’re much better at writing than he is.”

Yuuri protested, but this time Victor insisted. “You have a real talent for writing, Yuuri. I’m serious.”

Yuuri turned and caught his mouth in a kiss and Victor held him close.

 

It was their last day in St. Petersburg when Victor remembered about the envelope he’d brought with him from New York. He found it among his things as he packed his clothes away in preparation for the flight back. His hands trembled a little as he reached out for it and pulled it out.

He rose to his feet with the envelope in his hands and set off to find Yuuri.

By the oddest of coincidences, Yuuri at that moment was looking for him and so they stumbled into each other in the doorway between rooms.

“I have a question for you,” they both said very nearly at the same time.

They exchanged a surprised look and broke out into laughter.

“You first,” Victor said, motioning with the envelope in his hand.

“No, no!” Yuuri protested. “You first! Please!”

Victor opened his mouth to argue and decided against it. He held his envelope out to Yuuri. “This is for you.”

He caught the expression of surprise on the boy’s face and felt worried. What would Yuuri think of it? Would it offend him?

Yuuri opened the envelope and pulled out a card.

“I’m inviting you to the _Runway_ Christmas party,” Victor explained. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” _I would understand if you didn’t. I’m not sure why I brought the invitation along: I wasn’t going to dare to invite you, but after the last week I thought it was worth trying._

Yuuri raised his eyes from the envelope and Victor waited for his answer.

“I invited Mr. Chulanont too,” the words slipped out before Yuuri could even open his mouth to speak.

Yuuri took his hand. “Call him Phichit, please,” he insisted. And then his face split into a smile and Victor smiled back.

 _Does that mean you will go?_ “Can I take that as a “yes”?”

“I will look forward to it,” Yuuri promised, returning the card to the envelope.

Victor’s heart leapt. He tried to keep his glee under control. “Thank you.”

Yuuri nodded to show it was nothing.

“What was your question?”

Yuuri fidgeted. “To be honest, it’s not an easy one… I don’t know how you’ll react to it.” Victor watched Yuuri open his mouth and then close it again, as if the right words to say refused to come, as if he didn’t even know how to approach the subject.

He wondered what the question could possibly be. But did it matter? Yuuri couldn’t ask him something that would offend him, he was sure of it.

“Yes,” Victor said, heart overflowing with fondness.

“Yes?” Yuuri exclaimed, looking taken aback. “What do you mean: yes?”

“I agree to it, whatever you were going to ask me,” Victor explained and raised Yuuri’s hand to his lips.

Yuuri pulled it away gently. “I think you need to hear what it is first, otherwise it doesn’t really count,” Yuuri insisted.

“Alright. What’s your question?”

Yuuri took a deep breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m very, very bad: this chapter features a reference to one of my other fics, [where Victor becomes a legendary Tsar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12740541/chapters/29055912). One of these days I’ll take a page out of CLAMP’s book and figure out a way for all of my fics to coexist in the same universe, or something, haha…
> 
> Also, there is a very important thing [here](http://witharthurkirkland.tumblr.com/post/169443724888/dear-fic-or-original-story-readers-and-art), that you should all read.
> 
> It's almost 1 year since I joined ao3 and I'm thinking of doing a fic giveaway. What do you think?
> 
> One more chapter to go!!


	15. An Important Question

It wasn’t an easy question to ask: even after all this time Yuuri couldn’t predict what Victor’s answer would be. He couldn’t deny the fact that Victor had changed, or that he’d changed for the better, but how would he react to this idea?

He struggled for the right words, said a word or two that were incomprehensible and cleared his throat. “I should probably start by giving you this,” he said and slipped his hand into his inside pocket.

Yuuri had to break eye contact with Victor in order to get what he needed and so he missed the way the expression on Victor’s face changed, not just once, but twice as Yuuri’s hand pulled out what he needed.

He raised his eyes and met Victor’s, his look as open and honest as always. “It’s a bit… unusual, I admit,” he conceded and handed Victor an envelope.

Victor reached out for it, but his hand stopped several inches away and he gave Yuuri a questioning look.

“It’s from Phichit,” Yuuri admitted. “He asked me to deliver it personally. He didn’t want it to go by your assistants just in case they ended up throwing it out without letting you read it.” Yuuri smiled at the memory of the conversation with his friend.

Victor took the envelope carefully, as if afraid it would explode. He gave Yuuri another look before opening it. Was he trying to guess the contents by Yuuri’s face?

Yuuri did his best to control his expression so as to not give anything away. Phichit had told him what was in the envelope, of course, and now he waited to see Victor’s reaction.

The expression on Victor’s face didn’t change much as he tore open the envelope and pulled a letter out. His eyebrows rose as his eyes darted over the page.

Yuuri waited patiently. He watched Victor go over the letter a second time, disbelief written all over his face.

“He wants me to…?” Victor asked in surprise.

“Yes.” Yuuri nodded.

Victor raised his eyes and met Yuuri’s. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Have you read this?” Victor asked, waving the letter in the air.

Yuuri nodded.

Victor looked at it again, as if expecting it to say something different this time around, but the contents of the letter remained unchanged. He folded it up and returned it to the envelope.

Yuuri waited, afraid to say the wrong thing.

After several minutes of heavy silence he found he couldn’t wait any longer. “So… What do you think?”

To his surprise, Victor answered with a question, “What do _you_ think?”

“He’s serious,” Yuuri hurried to assure Victor. “He means what he writes. He isn’t mocking you and it’s definitely not a prank.” He’d made sure during his conversation with Phichit that this was the case.

Victor pocketed the letter. “Then I agree.” He held his hand out and Yuuri took it, captivated by his gaze. “But only under one condition.”

Yuuri’s heart beat faster. “What condition?”

“Will you be there with me?”

Yuuri lowered his eyes. Was it a good idea to do this? Would it lead to more bad press? Did that matter?

He gave a barely perceptible nod, looked up at Victor and whispered, “Yes.”

Victor raised his hand to his lips and kissed it.

 

For the first time in Victor’s life the flight back home to New York didn’t feel ridiculously long. He enjoyed sitting by Yuuri’s side and talking about small, insignificant things, or just relaxing in a comfortable silence with him. It made thoughts about their return all the more painful.

They’d found a new intimacy in St. Petersburg and he was afraid that once they returned to New York it would be gone.

He gave Yuuri all of his attention, asking the boy if he needed anything as he pulled his fingers through his hair and gave him a fond look.

Yuuri smiled back and Victor didn’t need anything else. He was ready to trade it all away for that smile. The smile that made all his worries fade away.

At least, until they made it back to their apartment.

 

It was the dead of the night, somewhere between midnight and two in the morning. Victor sat in his bed in the dark of his room. His insomnia was back, merciless as always.

He went over the events of the day: the flight home, the walk with Makkachin and Vicchan in the evening. Everything had felt so comfortable. But where was all that comfort now?

 _I need to move somewhere else,_ Victor thought miserably. _This place is too full of bad memories for him. And for me._

If in St. Petersburg Yuuri was perfectly happy to walk into Victor’s bedroom and sleep next to him, here there was no chance of that happening.

He missed Yuuri’s calming presence terribly.

Outside the city didn’t sleep and in here neither did he. He listened to every noise out there in the streets, wishing desperately he could block them all out.

A light burst into the room, making Victor turn to look at the door.

Yuuri stood in the doorway, one hand on the wall where the switch was. “I can’t sleep,” he admitted.

Victor slipped out of the bed and crossed the room to join Yuuri. He paused several steps away and then almost jumped the last two steps, catching Yuuri in his embrace.

Yuuri held on to him, burying his face in Victor’s chest.

“I’ll look after you,” Victor promised in a whisper.

He felt Yuuri give a nod and led him to the bed. Yuuri got in first and Victor followed soon after, circling the bed to take the spot on the other side.

He thought they’d sleep side by side. He didn’t expect Yuuri roll onto his side and catch him in a tight embrace before falling asleep. He’d expected the same comfort as before. He wasn’t ready for Yuuri’s hold to be so tight he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

Sleeping was even less possible now than it had been before.

Dawn came and still Yuuri held him in a tight grip.

There was work to get up and get ready for. There were people waiting for him to make big decisions. There was an editor waiting for Yuuri (and, for once, it wasn’t him) along with proof that his trip to St. Petersburg was more than just an impromptu vacation.

Still Yuuri slept on, holding Victor in place.

He didn’t want to go anywhere anyway. What could he possibly do there? He wanted to be here.

And so Victor held on in return and lay next to Yuuri with his eyes closed, not sure if he wanted to fall asleep or not. He willed himself to stay where he was even when he started to feel the first pangs of hunger.

 

It was well after dawn when Yuuri stirred and woke up from his sleep. He released Victor and turned over to stretch. Then he sat up abruptly, realizing how light it was in the room.

“What time is it?” he exclaimed.

Victor pulled him back down. “Who knows?” he murmured, pressing his face against Yuuri’s chest.

After five minutes or so of steady breathing, Yuuri realized that Victor had fallen asleep. And Yuuri stayed, ready to wait as long as Victor needed him to.

Victor didn’t sleep for very long. Whether out of habit of not getting enough sleep, or because his body knew how late it was, he woke up barely an hour later and Yuuri couldn’t help feeling disappointed when Victor pulled away.

Instead of protesting, he sat up and turned away. “What will my boss think when I come in this late?” he asked softly.

“Just call in sick,” Victor suggested.

“And what about you?” Yuuri asked, turning around to face him.

“I’ll call in sick too,” was Victor’s reply. He was smiling and so Yuuri wasn’t sure if he was serious or not.

Yuuri laughed. “We can’t _both_ call in sick.”

“Why not? When someone gets sick the people near them do as well.” Victor reached out and tucked a lock of Yuuri’s hair behind his ear. Much to Yuuri’s surprise, he didn’t take his hands away afterwards, but framed Yuuri’s face with them instead.

Yuuri closed his eyes and took Victor hands with his own. His heart beat faster. He waited for Victor to say something. He wasn’t sure what, but he waited anyway.

But, once again, Victor pulled away.

With a sigh Yuuri slipped out of the bed and rose to his feet. He stood with his back to Victor and his head lowered. He didn’t move for several minutes and then he circled the bed and sat down next to Victor.

He felt Victor’s eyes on him as he unbuttoned his pajama shirt and he forced himself to meet Victor’s eye. His mouth was dry and he had no idea what he could possibly say at a time like this.

Victor blushed and shifted away, as if he’d suddenly become afraid of Yuuri.

 _This is a bad idea,_ Yuuri thought as he reached the last button.

Their eyes met again.

“Are you sure about this?” Victor whispered.

Yuuri nodded as the blood rushed to his face. “I am.”

Before he could realize what was happening, Victor was on the floor in front of him. He took one of Yuuri’s feet and raised it to his lips.

He let out a barely audible sigh as Victor planted tender kisses on his foot. Victor held it delicately, almost as if afraid to break it and rubbed his thumbs over Yuuri’s skin.

Yuuri didn’t dare say anything, mentally willing Victor to keep going.

Victor looked up at Yuuri. “Will you go dancing with me in the evening?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Yuuri said and nodded.

“Thank you,” Victor whispered and planted another kiss on Yuuri’s foot.

As if that had settled the matter somehow, he rose to his feet and undressed.

Yuuri watched without saying a word. Once he was done, Victor took Yuuri’s hand and pressed it to his face with his eyes closed. The next kiss was for Yuuri’s palm.

Victor bent over Yuuri, placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders as he caught his mouth hungrily with his own. Yuuri reclined on the bed, taking Victor with him. Victor refused to let him go and Yuuri was starting to think that this was it: that they weren’t going to do anything else. Victor’s hands released his head and slid over Yuuri’s neck and to his shoulders. He pulled away only to press his lips against Yuuri’s neck instead.

 

Victor felt Yuuri’s fingers slide over his back as the boy gave a gentle moan. Victor wasn’t going to let him go no matter what, not when he reached the boy’s chest and planted a kiss right over his heart.

And then an odd thought caught him off guard and made him stop: could he remember what Yuuri liked?

He slipped his hands over Yuuri’s chest and watched the boy react to his touch, especially when he made good use of his thumbs.

“Victor!” Yuuri gasped.

He could feel his own heart beat faster in his chest and there was that old excitement he’d completely forgotten about until now.

He lowered his head slowly and pressed a kiss against Yuuri’s stomach.

“Victor…” Yuuri whispered again.

Yuuri was still partially dressed. Victor’s hands slipped over the elastic of Yuuri’s pajama pants and stopped.

He raised his head and looked into Yuuri’s face as if waiting for permission for what he wanted to do.

There was a smile on Yuuri’s face. At the sight of it a warmth spread in Victor’s chest.

Carefully, as if afraid it would hurt Yuuri somehow, he caught the top of Yuuri’s pants and pulled them off, fingers sliding over a pair of hips he longed to kiss next.

Yuuri was still smiling.

Victor dropped onto his knees on the floor and Yuuri sat up and moved closer

It didn’t matter that they’d been here before. It didn’t matter that once, a long time ago, Victor had led a different life and had other lovers. This felt too much like a first time. Their first time.

Their first _proper_ time.

Yuuri caught Victor’s head before he could lean closer and gave him a kiss. Unlike the previous kisses, it made Victor’s head spin and his whole body tremble. And when they broke it at last he stared into Yuuri’s face, feeling the boy’s hands slip into his hair.

 _Kiss me again_ , he thought. _Kiss me so hard I forgive myself for all the mistakes I’ve made._

But, instead, he pulled Yuuri close and pressed his face against the boy’s chest.

He couldn’t hold the words back anymore and they tumbled out of him. “I love you,” he whispered as his heart beat faster. “I love you so much everything inside hurts.” His heart rushed on, terrified of what Yuuri would say next.

Yuuri pulled Victor’s head away from him and looked into his eyes. “I love you too,” he said softly. “I’ve loved you from the very beginning.” He gave a sad smile, the sight of which pained Victor. “Whenever we go anywhere together I can’t look at anyone else but you. I only realized as much at the Christmas Party last year.”

Victor took Yuuri’s hand and kissed it. “What can I do to make it up to you?” he asked softly.

Yuuri said nothing. He sat Victor down on the bed and slipped onto his lap.

“Do you still keep everything in the top drawer?” he whispered into Victor’s ear after another dozen or so kisses had been exchanged.

Victor nodded.

 

He let Yuuri take charge and do what he wanted. It didn’t take long for him to realize that Yuuri still remembered what got him going.

“Victor?” Yuuri said in a calm tone that was completely at odds with Victor’s breathless one. He raised his head and was treated to the sight of Yuuri’s face between his thighs.

“Yes…?” he breathed out.

It was Yuuri’s turn to blush. “I… I was wondering if you still had any of that…” He was getting more flustered with every moment. Victor had to resist the urge to laugh. “…underwear you designed?” Yuuri finally finished.

Victor wasn’t ready for the memories that flashed before his eyes at those words. He put his hands over his face.

“Victor?” Yuuri asked, concern in his voice. He pulled Victor’s hands away from his face.

“Yuuri…” Victor whispered back, “don’t say something like that without a warning!”

He laughed and kissed Victor’s chest, sliding a hand over his stomach. “I was actually going to ask you to wear it next time.”

 

The evening of the 24th of December came faster this year than last year.

It was hard to believe that exactly a year ago they stood here, the two Yuris at Victor’s ear, whispering the names of his guests to remind him who they all were.

Now Victor stood with Yuuri leaning on his arm and greeted everyone who came with a smile and a nod. The names no longer mattered.

If anyone noticed the difference, they didn’t say.

Each guest started off by greeting Victor politely by name and then smiling and greeting Yuuri. He found, to his surprise, that he could still remember most of the names and faces and didn’t hesitate to use them.

Yuri wasn’t there with them this time.

 

_“It’s just going to be the two of us greeting the guests this time,” Victor said over dinner the day before the Christmas party._

_Yuuri gave him a surprised look. “Yuri won’t come?”_

_“He can have the evening off,” Victor said dismissively._

_Yuuri remembered the conversation he’d had with Yuri a week ago, he remembered how much effort the assistant had spent the year before and suspected that the same amount of time had gone into picking out the perfect clothes for him to wear. “Why don’t you tell him to come anyway?” he asked._

_“What? Like one of the guests?”_

_“Why not? You always have the first assistant at your Christmas party, don’t you?” Yuuri asked. “Tell him he can bring a date,” he added, remembering Otabek and the deception Yuri had used to sneak him in._

_Victor opened his mouth, ready to argue and then he closed it. “Why not?”_

_Yuuri smiled._

 

He spotted Yuri somewhere in the crowd with Otabek by his side. The two of them had been among the first arrivals. Yuuri watched them laugh about something as they got their drinks and turned away with a smile.

The assistants always had each other’s backs, even when they weren’t assistants anymore.

“Good evening!”

Yuuri turned at the sound of a familiar voice.

Phichit stood before him, dressed with his usual flair, a grin on his face. He held his hand out to Victor and they shook hands like business partners.

“I look forward to seeing you in the new year,” Phichit said.

“Likewise,” Victor responded.

And a whisper went through the room.

What were they planning? Was there a secret alliance between the two fashion magazines that had been rivals for so long?

Yuuri smiled at both of them.

Phichit hugged him. “I missed you,” he whispered into Yuuri’s ear.

“But you saw me yesterday!” Yuuri protested.

“Ah, but I miss you, anyway!” Phichit insisted, pulling away. “Will you come with me for a bit?”

Yuuri nodded and gave Victor an apologetic smile.

What do best friends talk about? What do people say to each other when they’ve known each other for years?

They walked through the room, chatting about meaningless things, both aware that there was something they wanted to talk about, but were avoiding for the moment. And as they went people greeted them respectfully. They were eager to catch Phichit’s eye and then gave an identical greeting to Yuuri, as if they were seeing him for the first time that evening, as if he hadn’t greeted them at the door.

Phichit stopped and gave his friend a smile that was bigger than all the others. “Well, well.”

Yuuri said nothing.

And then the smile was gone. “So you’re staying with him?” Phichit asked.

“I am,” Yuuri said in a tone that was almost a challenge. He didn’t add anything else.

Phichit was silent as well.

The band struck up a tune and it wasn’t just _any_ tune: it was their tune.

Yuuri looked around, searching for Victor in the crowd.

A hand caught his and a voice whispered, “I’m right here,” into his ear.

He didn’t waste any time on words, choosing instead to pull Victor to the dancefloor.

They were the first ones there and Yuuri spun around with a laugh. Victor followed his lead. They held on to each other like before as they went through the steps without thinking. Of course it was without thinking. Who needed to think when every step flowed naturally from the previous one? When they weren’t just moving, but breathing and thinking as one?

And who cared what everyone around them would say? Who cared what new rumours would appear in the papers the next day?

Yuuri watched Victor spin around, giving into the dance, and almost laughed from joy.

Faster, faster…

A spin here, a dozen steps there…

And here it was: the end was coming. It was almost upon them.

The song ended and Victor pressed his lips against Yuuri’s cheek, catching the boy in an embrace.

There was more dancing after that, but it wasn’t the same as the first dance. Others joined in around them and they became more aware of their surroundings.

Four dances later they decided to take a break.

Victor followed Yuuri off the dancefloor and in search for drinks.

“Good evening!” another familiar voice greeted them and Victor stepped forward and put his arms around Stéphane.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” he exclaimed.

Stéphane laughed. “How could I not come?” he asked and gave Yuuri a meaningful look over Victor’s shoulder and Yuuri remembered the words he’d said a year ago in this same room back when the circumstances were quite different.

_“If you break his heart, I won’t forgive you.”_

When Victor released Stéphane the editor of _Vogue_ held his hand out to Yuuri. “A pleasure to see you again, Yuuri.”

“Likewise,” Yuuri said.

They understood each other perfectly. There was no need for any more words.

They spent the evening in polite conversation and when Phichit joined them whispers rippled through the crowd again.

And for the first time, since he became the editor of _Runway_ , Victor stayed through dinner and until the end of the Christmas party. In fact, he stayed with the two editors and Yuuri the whole time. He was in no rush to go home that day and Yuuri could see by his face that he was really enjoying himself this time.

 

What a bliss it was to wake up next to his darling Yuuri on the morning of his birthday! They’d stayed up late on Christmas Eve, watching a movie while sitting on the couch under a thick blanket. At some point Victor dozed off, his head on Yuuri’s shoulder.

He tried not to think too much about the fact that he’d slept fully dressed. And in his clothes for the Christmas party too!

But, no, that didn’t matter. It really didn’t matter. What mattered was that Yuuri was there, by his side and –

Yuuri wasn’t there.

Victor lay on the couch all alone.

He sat up in alarm.

Yuuri was gone! Where did he disappear to?

But no, Yuuri was right there – standing next to the Christmas tree and admiring the presents under it, some of which Victor had arranged himself.

Victor crept up behind him and wrapped his arms around the boy. “Why don’t you open your presents first?” he whispered into Yuuri’s ear.

“No, I think you should start,” Yuuri said.

“Alright,” Victor agreed. He picked up the one at the very front. “I confess I’m curious to see what you got me. Whatever it is, I’m sure I will love it.”

Yuuri smiled and Victor felt his heart flip over. He lowered his eyes and tried to focus on the unwrapping. “Right, well… It’s really nicely wrapped.”

“They did that for me at the store,” Yuuri admitted.

“I’m sure you can wrap presents better than any store,” he told Yuuri, not just to flatter him, but actually believing what he was saying. Finally he tore through the annoying wrapping paper and opened the box. He stuck his hands in and pulled out what felt like clothes of some kind.

What did Yuuri get him? Was it a new suit? Or a shirt? Or…

It was the ugliest sweater Victor had ever laid eyes on. He had to resist the urge to drop it and recoil away from it. Even not shuddering was really hard at this point.

 _What the hell is this?_ He wondered. _Where the hell did he get this? Whoever sold this needs to be closed down immediately!_

Which mad people worked on this? Who had been tasteless enough to come up with this tacky pattern and who approved it? Who thought it was a good idea to pick out random bits of material and stitch them together willy-nilly? Who was the madman responsible for accepting it into a store?

Oh god! And Yuuri bought it for _him_! If he ever wore this in public, not only would he lose his reputation, but also his job! But why else would Yuuri buy it for him, if he didn’t expect him to wear it? His dear and wonderful Yuuri whose one failing was his atrocious sense of fashion and now he’d put all his effort into a gift for Victor only to be let down by this sense of fashion.

 _I will treasure this gift,_ Victor thought, _I promise. I just can’t be seen in this. Anywhere. Ever._

He heard a muffled sound and looked up into Yuuri’s face.

Yuuri smiled. “Do you like it?”

He could open his mouth and tell the truth (the truth Yuuri always insisted on) and risk hurting Yuuri’s feelings as well as invoking the wrath of the editor of _Fantastic Man_. He could try to say something neutral about it. But his brain was completely blank.

It was so ugly! It was _the ugliest thing_ Victor had ever seen throughout his whole career in fashion, no in his whole life.

He couldn’t suppress the shudder that passed over his shoulders now.

A sound made him raise his eyes again and he saw Yuuri giggling with a hand over his mouth. “You should see the look on your face!”

“Yuuri…”

Yuuri pulled it out of Victor’s hands. “Don’t worry about it. Your real present is at the bottom of the box.”

Victor opened his mouth to say that it was fine, he could keep it anyway, but his eyes dropped back to the box and all thoughts of the ugly sweater were forgotten.

Somehow he’d completely missed the smaller box that lay on the bottom of the big one. He picked it up and studied it.

It wasn’t very big and was covered in velvet. He raised his eyes as the breath caught in his throat. Could it be?

Yuuri stepped closer and whispered, “You can open it, you know.” Was there a faint blush on his cheeks or was it just the light of dawn on his beautiful face?

Victor nodded numbly and then willed his fingers to stop shaking as he opened the box.

A watch gleamed from the inside.

He almost closed the box. He almost dropped it.

Was this really Yuuri’s present or was this another joke?

“The man at the store assured me that it was the best,” Yuuri went on, as if he couldn’t see what was going on inside Victor’s mind.

Victor suppressed his disappointment and smiled. “It’s beautiful.”

“Do you mind if I put it on you?” Yuuri asked.

Instead of an answer Victor held out his wrist.

Yuuri pulled the watch out of the box and then slid it over Victor’s hand.

_I’m an idiot. Why would he? It should be me doing it, anyway. But what will he think? Will he agree or will he take it as an excuse to move away? I can’t lose you again, Yuuri. I just can’t. It will kill me._

Victor smiled and admired the watch on his wrist. He complimented Yuuri’s good taste. He thanked him over and over again and promised to wear it always.

He swallowed back the tears that rose to his eyes.

It was his own fault, after all. Not Yuuri’s.

And still he felt incredibly disappointed. He wished he hadn’t, but there was no helping it.

He felt miserable all day long and at some point Yuuri noticed that something was wrong. He tried to tease it out of him, but Victor brushed the questions away and did his best to act happy.

The following morning when he woke up he made himself a promise that he intended to keep.

 

It was no great secret to anyone at _Runway_ as to what was on Victor’s mind. His private life wasn’t so private that they didn’t know all about it.

But Victor went on as normal, as if his intentions weren’t glaringly obvious, or as if he himself couldn’t see just what he was doing.

“Maybe he doesn’t realize what he’s doing,” some of them said.

“Maybe he thinks he’s being subtle about it,” said others. “Does he really think that we won’t notice?”

And they’d argue.

All while Victor put together a second issue, where every model in every photoshoot wore white, or, failing that, soft pastel tones that brought only one thought to mind. He seemed to be particularly fond of the combination of white and gold and experimented a lot with it. When the January issue came out even the press caught on.

“Um…” the second assistant said, walking up to Yuri’s desk and throwing a look in the direction of Victor’s office as if to make sure that the editor didn’t magically appear there after he’d seen him leave. “Is it true?”

“What?” Yuri snapped, his eyes on the screen as he typed something at incredible speed.

“Is he…” here the second assistant lowered his voice as if he was talking about some sort of crime, “…getting married?”

Yuri hmphed and kept typing. After a minute he realized that the assistant wasn’t going to leave until he got his answer, so he turned away from the screen. “What’s it to you?”

“I was just… wondering how that would affect us,” the assistant quavered.

Yuri shrugged. “Not at all, probably.” Then, in a quieter tone, he added, “that’s assuming he has the guts to propose.”

A door opened and Chris came in with several folders under his arm. “Good morning!” he said. He strolled towards Victor’s office, as if visiting him as usual, stopped when he reached them and lowered his voice, “So, has he?”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “Obviously _not_. I doubt he ever will.”

Chris laughed. “So, let’s see… It’s going to be in the February issue and probably in the March one too…”

“What is?” the second assistant exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”

“Wedding wear,” Yuri explained dryly. “Haven’t you noticed how _Runway_ has suddenly become a wedding magazine? Yakov was in here earlier. I doubt he’ll tolerate this for another issue.”

There was a dangerous glint in Chris’s eyes as he straightened up. “Should we bet?”

Yuri shrugged again. “On what? When he’ll do it?” He straightened the pile of papers on his desk. “Well, he won’t. It’s going to be Yuuri.”

“Not if I go talk to him,” Chris declared, turning towards Victor’s office.

“You can’t,” Yuri told him, “he’s out right now.” His phone rang and he reached out for it. “Yes?” Chris and the second assistant watched the expression on his face change. Yuri hung up almost as soon as he picked up the phone and looked at the other two. “He’s back,” he said in a low voice.

“What?” the second assistant exclaimed. “Already?” He flailed on the spot and then ran for his desk.

Chris shook his head and smiled at Yuri. “So, will we bet or not?”

“No,” Yuri said dryly. “I had enough fun as it is researching the most romantic places in New York and the best ways to propose. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Not catching the hint, or perhaps ignoring it, Chris leaned forward and whispered, “What did you recommend?”

Yuri glared at him. “I didn’t _recommend_ anything!” he shot back.

If Chris wanted to get any more out of Yuri, he had to wait, since at that moment Victor entered the office suite.

Three pairs of eyes turned to take in the editor of _Runway_.

Victor stormed past them to his office, the expression on his face darker than night.

They turned to Yuri for an explanation. Yuri merely shrugged. He was used to seeing Victor in a bad mood as he returned from another date that didn’t go the way he’d planned.

The second assistant thought of the list he’d put together with Yuri of the most romantic locations and wondered how many dates would go by before Victor would propose. He’d never met Yuuri Katsuki, but there was no doubt in his mind that Victor would be the one to propose.

Would they have to come up with a second list when Victor got through the first one? He hoped not: as far as he knew, this list included every possible location.

He sighed and returned to his desk.

If Victor returned so soon it only meant one thing: something had forced Yuuri to cancel the date. He wondered if Yuuri knew what Victor was trying to do. It was obvious to everyone at _Runway_. It had to be obvious to him!

Two calm hours went by and then panic crept into the Elias-Clarke building. People ran around like mad, trying to get everything in order, tripping over each other and nearly dropping whatever they were carrying. The second assistant stopped in the middle of one of the floors and stared at them in amazement.

Then, coming to his senses, he ran back to his desk.

“Is something wrong?” he asked as soon as he entered the office suite. To his great relief, Yuri was all alone at his desk.

Yuri gave him a dark smile. “The boss is coming.”

“What? How? He’s in his office? Isn’t he?” Was this a prank or did Victor really leave while he was out on his errands?

“Oh, not _Victor_ ,” Yuri said dismissively. “The boss’s boss.”

“Yakov? But there’s never been this much panic when –”

Victor’s office opened and the man himself rushed out to the elevators.

The second assistant’s mouth dropped.

Yuri’s smile widened. “More important than Yakov,” he muttered.

The second assistant still didn’t understand. Just to be on the safe side, he rushed to his desk, sat down and straightened out his clothes.

Victor returned several minutes later with a handsome young man by his side. The man stopped to greet the first assistant.

“How are you, Yuri?” he said with a sweet smile and the second assistant took to him instantly.

“Same as always. You know how it is.”

The stranger smiled and gave a single nod. He gave the second assistant a polite hello and asked for his name next.

“M-Minami,” the second assistant stammered out, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks.

“Nice to meet you,” the stranger said and Minami was afraid that he would melt in his chair.

The stranger looked at Victor. “Really, Victor, there’s no need to make such a fuss. It’s just lunch. I could’ve waited downstairs with Phichit.”

And then it clicked. The second assistant remembered where he’d seen that face before.

It wasn’t one of the models, or someone from the board of the publishing company. It wasn’t just anyone. The man Yuri had called “the boss’s boss” was none other than Yuuri Katsuki himself.

He watched Victor and Yuuri walk into his office, but it wasn’t long before the door opened again and both men left together.

“Are you planning on working anytime soon?” Yuri shot at him across the room.

Minami jumped in his seat and did his best to focus on his next task.

 

There is no great secret to happiness, no magic formula, or special ritual to get it. Everything is relative to everything else. To recognize true happiness for what it is a person must experience what it is to be unhappy.

Perhaps that was why when Victor strode into the building for his meeting with the editor of _Fantastic Man_ with Yuuri by his side there was a smile on his face. Once, he wouldn’t have set foot in the building for all the money in the world and, if forced, he would’ve made it very clear to everyone that he was doing them a great honour by appearing here like this. Now he looked forward to this meeting with Yuuri’s best friend.

Mr. Chulanont – no, _Phichit_ ’s letter had caught him off guard. He hadn’t expected a request like this one. And, in a way, he was honoured.

 _I would like to feature a photoshoot in the next issue of you in what you consider to be your everyday wear,_ Phichit wrote. _I will leave the choice of clothing entirely up to you._

Victor had called him and insisted on one more detail. And so the photoshoot was moved to late January in preparation for the February issue of _Fantastic Man_.

Victor watched Yuuri’s face as they went up in the elevator. “Nervous?” he asked.

“A little,” Yuuri admitted.

“There’s no need,” Victor insisted and – oh well, they would have to have this conversation eventually – he added, “you’re a natural.”

“What?”

“I thought you turned out very well on those covers of _Fantastic Man_ ,” Victor explained.

Yuuri blushed and looked away. “I… I needed the money,” he whispered.

Victor caught his hand and raised it to his lips.

The elevator dinged and they exited without another word.

Phichit greeted them with a big smile and they followed him to the studio where the photos would be taken.

Victor had posed for photos before. He’d even posed for photos for _Fantastic Man_ before. But he’d never posed for photos with someone else before.

He and Yuuri stood around awkwardly, trying to figure out what to do. He tried to kneel down at Yuuri’s feet, but Yuuri pulled him up again. They were given props. There were a chair, a sofa, and other articles of furniture. They were told to dance together and Victor got them to change into their dance clothes first.

But even the dancing didn’t help loosen the tension between them.

Victor leaned against a big chair on one side as Yuuri leaned towards him from the other side with a smile that wasn’t entirely convincing.

Several hours had gone by. They were starting to get tired of posing and searching for that perfect photo.

How much longer would they do this? How much longer would this dance go on before they finally found poses that worked for them?

Yuuri was so beautiful. Even exhausted, even with a tired smile on his face, he was still the most beautiful person in the room. Under the studio lights and the cameras all pointed at them Yuuri simply shone.

 _I don’t want to lose him. If I lose him, it will kill me,_ Victor thought again and knew his time had come.

They took the chair away and Victor dropped on one knee before Yuuri. Before Yuuri could protest or even pull him up to his feet, he grabbed Yuuri’s right hand in both of his own and whispered,

“Will you marry me, Yuuri?”

He let the question sink in. He watched Yuuri’s eyes widen and the blush rise to his cheeks. He watched Yuuri open and close his mouth as he considered his answer and he braced himself for the worst.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: There is now a part three!
> 
> And that’s all for The Devil Wears Prada AU! Thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos! Oh gosh, I've been writing this AU since forever. It feels weird for it to be finally over...
> 
> Do YOU want to win a free ficlet? Easy, just follow the instructions [here](http://witharthurkirkland.tumblr.com/post/169793507908/ficlet-giveaway-because-who-doesnt-like-free). And if you're thinking: "Hey! That's not fair! I don't have a Tumblr account!" Then leave me a comment here (or an any of my fics) to let me know that you're interested. If I get more than 10 comments from interested people, I'll do a raffle of ao3 usernames.
> 
> Normally when I finish a fic I mention in the end notes which will be the next fic, except I somehow ended up with several wips, so I’m going to finish those before moving on to new fics. For those who are curious, I currently have:  
> [Victor the Great](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12740541/chapters/29055912) (a historic AU)  
> [How to Lose a Guy in 16 Weeks](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12908742/chapters/29491221) (an AU based loosely on How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days)  
> [New Year’s Phone Call](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13224036/chapters/30248682) (an AU set in the canonical universe, or is it?)  
> and some fics for prompts for two old fics… That’s really a lot, oops!
> 
> Plus, I’m going to be in a [zine](http://witharthurkirkland.tumblr.com/post/169982909048/unknownlandzine-header-drawn-by-alice-one-of)!! 
> 
> I keep forgetting to mention this, but I like to think of [this music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2S1I_ien6A) as their tune.


End file.
